


One-Eyed Raven

by SquirrellyThief



Series: Moonlight Over the Forest [2]
Category: Forgotten Realms, The Legend of Drizzt - R. A. Salvatore
Genre: AU, Adventure, Last Threshold Canon, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-29
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-13 07:19:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 68,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/821542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SquirrellyThief/pseuds/SquirrellyThief
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I was once Dahlia Sin'felle, but I have fallen on hard times with the loss of my allies to that cursed ranger. I scrape by in Waterdeep and I shall claw my way back to my former glory, even if it is the last thing I do. I am the One-Eyed Raven now</p><p>I was once Drizzt Do'Urden, a hero, a ranger, a friend, but my mind is slipping from me. I feel so far away, and I am beginning to realize, perhaps too late, that I may need more help than my friends can offer. I am the Hunter now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Impressions

Water sloshed over the side of the copper tub as the ranger adjusted his position. He flipped the assassin’s shaving razor over in his hand, before bringing it to the edge of a patch of shadow on the human’s face.  The sharp blade glided smoothly across skin, pulling away with a sharp flick of the drow’s wrist before it had a chance to catch.

Artemis brought a hand from Drizzt’s hip and touched the now clean section of his cheek, “That’s close. I’m impressed.”

Drizzt tried to hide his triumphant smirk as he wiped the blade on a small piece of cloth thrown over the side of their shared tub. He set in, switching hands instead of asking the assassin to turn when he finished one side and started on the other.

“You know,” Artemis quipped when Drizzt had pulled the blade away, “how long I’ve been waiting for an ambidextrous barber?”

The ranger laughed. “Glad I could oblige,” he pointed to the ceiling, settling back on his knees and feeling the human shift beneath him, craning his neck back to expose the stubble under his jaw and along his neck; their combined movements sloshed more water onto the floor. “My word we got domestic quickly,” Drizzt noted, gently grazing the steel along the delicate skin of the man’s throat.

Artemis scowled, “I noticed.” Despite the deadpan of his tone, Artemis made no move to push the drow away.

When all that annoyingly abrasive stubble was gone, Drizzt ran his fingertips over his handy work, feeling for missed or uneven spots, and finding none. He snaked his hand around the back of the human’s neck and tilted his head back down for a slow, lazy kiss. He felt the assassin’s calloused hands slide up his back and pull him in closer, warm water swishing between them.

Drizzt pulled back a bit, pressing his forehead to Artemis’s and taking several deep breaths. The blade was still held tight between his fingers. He drew his arm back between them, examining the finely edged steel through half closed eyes, comparing its sparking silver to the pale grey of the human’s skin. He rested the cold metal against the assassin’s collar and pressed it to the skin there, feeling the hands on his lower back and hip tense nervously, fingertips threatening to leave bruises. All it would take was one quick swipe-

Drizzt straightened his back, tossing the blade to the floor beyond his reach. His heart thudded angrily in his chest and a dull pain settled behind his eyes. He gripped the sides of the tub until his hands ached and his arms stopped shaking. Artemis was saying something, but Drizzt couldn’t hear him over the sound of blood rushing in his ears.

He almost killed Artemis.

A man who, after months of domesticity and long conversations in the middle of the night, was just starting to warm up to the idea of _occasionally_ trusting him, when no one was looking and there was no imminent danger, a man the ranger had been growing not only increasingly dependent on, but genuinely fond of; and Drizzt was only a breath away from sinking a blade into to the spot on his deck that trembled with his pulse. He was gasping for air, but some part of him felt… bitter.

Cheated.

A strong hand settled on his neck and forced him to look at his companion. The human spoke slowly, obviously annoyed at having to repeat his question so many times, but with a slight hint of concern, “What is wrong?”

The ranger settled a bit, calmed by the cool authority in Artemis’s stare. The warm air coupled with the warm water was helping too, now that it registered and soothed his frazzled nerves past calm and to the verge of drowsiness. He stammered a bit, “I don’t know. My mind just got away from me for a second.”

The annoyance on the human’s face lessened, “How so? Are you well?”

“I’m fine,” Drizzt breathed, but Artemis scowled at him, “I guess I’m just still a little…” he knew he couldn’t blame his behavior on the long trip, they’d been in Port Llast for months and surely any problems that had started out there would have resolved themselves.

Right?

“I’m still a little off,” he said. “The heat is driving me crazy.” How could he tell Artemis that he nearly slit the man’s throat without provocation?

Artemis wasn’t convinced, but didn’t have enough information to call Drizzt out on his lie, “You would tell me if you were out of your depth, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course,” Drizzt said, and he was sincere. He could handle this; just a few scattered thoughts, a couple sleepless nights, nothing he couldn’t cope with or control. It wasn’t like he’d actually cut Artemis’s skin. He wasn’t out of his depth here.

Was he?

The ranger settled against Artemis, finding some stability in the solidness of the human’s form in the cooling water. He pressed a kiss to the smooth skin of the assassin’s jaw. “You know,” he murmured against Artemis’s neck trying to diffuse some of the discomfort and tension between them, “I like you with clean shave.” A gentle nudge and he got the human to face him for another slow kiss. After some hesitation, the hiccup was forgiven, and they settled back into their moment while they could still enjoy it; before the dwarves came hunting for them as they had been doing so often in the past few days.

-0-0-0-0-0-

The streets were densely populated this time of morning; merchants hustling to open their stores and stands despite the oppressive heat. Dahlia pulled her cloak tight around her shoulders, careful not to enact its magic; she’d spent enough time as a bird over the last few months, and the prospect of doing so again made her queasy.

A hand gripped her staff, trying to rip it from her hand, demanding to know how much she wanted for it. Dahlia pulled the weapon away, readying it for attack. She’d wandered into a nastier part of town, all back alleys and disrepair. Her harasser raised his hands and took a few steps back, stating that he hadn’t wanted a fight, just a barter, and he was willing to pay in gold.

“The staff isn’t for sale,” She said slowly, jabbing her staff at him and sending him back a few more steps. She’d been in Waterdeep for less than a day and people kept trying to steal or purchase her things and it was starting to wear her already thin nerves down to nothing.

The man backed off entirely then, cursing at her under his breath and disappearing in the crowd. Dahlia sighed and pulled the cowl of her cloak low enough to cover her face. She needed a place to hide out for a while. Too much more of this and she’d be killing people in the streets just to get the beggars to give her a wider berth.

She wandered the streets of Waterdeep for hours trying to find a place to rest on what little money she had; which was only a few copper at this point, having spent most of the money she’d managed to scrounge together on hot meals in small village inns, or to buy fresh clothing when her old getup was worn down by the elements. The first few inns, mostly nicer ones, turned her away. The taverns, densely populated, made her nervous that someone might recognize her by her staff or her reputation and send her away or worse, chase her. She knew it was only a matter of time before enemies started making themselves known to her all across the Sword Coast once word got out that she had crossed two men whose names held considerable weight both in the light and shadowed circles of the region. Briefly she considered gathering the money to get herself back to Thay, but realized that wouldn’t be an option either given that she probably wasn’t high on Szass Tam’s “I don’t want to kill you today” list.

After a handful of places either showed her the door or made her turn away, Dahlia finally settled on a place.

Dozens of eyes turned to her as she entered and cut across the common room of the first sparsely populated, cheap tavern that suited her. Dahlia tried to hide her disfigured face, but knew it was of little use. She must have looked a sight: beaten, bruised, and dirty, her clothes torn and bloodstained from weeks on the road as a highwayman, her scarred face and empty eye socket wrapped in a dingy bandage. Her once fine and polished boots _thunked_ loudly as she set her heels on the table defiantly challenging the bewildered and somewhat hostile stares of the tavern’s other patrons. Dahlia knew she could take on just about any one of them individually, or even a pair or group of three, but if the entire tavern decided to turn on her she’d be in trouble. In fact, anyone who had the whole tavern turn on them would probably be in trouble.

She kept her cowl low to hide the streaks of red in her hair and the woad on her face, lest anyone call her an agent of Thay and have her run out of town; just as she had been in the few small townships she’d tried to rest in before taking to the sky and soaring over the Waterdeep wall.

A young barmaid walked up to her after a few moments and slapped at Dahlia’s boots, “Get your feet off the table, stranger” she demanded in a lyrical voice, “this isn’t a brawlhouse.” Dahlia let the girl knock her boots completely off the table with her second swipe. “You want anything?”  Something was off about the tone of her voice, it seemed distant and almost as if she didn’t belong there; like she was a prisoner or a slave there.

Something about that thought made the back of Dahlia’s throat burn.

Before she could place the source of the burn, Dahlia grabbed the girl by the arm and turned her back around. The girl’s eyes widened in surprise momentarily, but settled into a scowl; Dahlia would have to justify her actions pretty quickly if she didn’t want to get thrown out of the tavern. “You do not sound like a tavern wench,” she said, examining the little human thing closely.  She was pretty, but not oppressively so. All soft, round features and rich olive skin marred only by darker patches of freckles around her nose and cheeks; she was clean, very clean, more so than any pauper Dahlia had ever seen, and her dress, though provocative, was equally tidy. What surprised the elf the most though, was the tightening of muscle beneath her hand when she grabbed the young girl, she was strong underneath all that clothing and dark, messy hair, too strong to just be waiting on tables and patrons in a seedy bar.

The girl ripped her arm away. “I have no idea what you are talking about,” she hissed.

“What’s your name?”

“None of your business,” the maid snapped.

Dahlia grabbed hold of her again and pulled her close, “Where does a pretty thing like you,” she asked, squeezing the girl’s arm roughly, “get muscles like this?”

The girl narrowed her eyes, examining Dahlia’s face closely, “What’s it to you?”

She pulled the girl closer, “I’m looking for work,” she lied, and squeezed the girl’s arm tight enough to elicit a wince, “perhaps you could point me in the right direction.”

“Oi!” the bartender called out, drawing the attention of several of the patrons, “This loser bothering you, Essie?”

The barmaid ripped her arm away, “No,” she called back, “I can handle it.” She lowered her voice to Dahlia, “Stay here until nightfall,” she said, “I’ll talk to you then.” She called for a mug of ale for Dahlia’s table and left the elf then, paying her no mind for what would be the rest of the day.

Dahlia didn’t touch the ale that came to her table via the bartender, coupled with a cheeky grin, instead opting to drink water from the skin at her hip and mull through her options.

The girl, Essie or whatever her name actually was, had to have been employed elsewhere. Perhaps some small-time thieves guild or some other such nonsense, with a city the size of sprawling Waterdeep one couldn’t be too sure, but the barmaid gig had to be a front. Which meant she had an employer.

An employer Dahlia could appeal to, and perhaps earn some protection from when her reputation finally caught up with her.

The elf leaned back in her chair, loosening the laces of her boots. She had to be careful though, being new to the city wouldn’t work in her favor and there was a good chance they’d try to swindle her, and she couldn’t afford to let naivety cost her any more.

Drizzt Do’Urden wasn’t around to help her if she got caught in a trap.

Not that she’d want him to be.

Nightfall came around surprisingly quickly and the tavern filled up to bursting. The extra chairs at Dahlia’s table were stolen without any thought to the lone elf sitting in the corner. Essie sat down on the edge of Dahlia’s table sometime after the last few patrons wandered in.

“What kind of work are you looking for?”

“What kind of work are you offering?”

The girl looked Dahlia over carefully, and eyed the staff leaning against the elf’s chair, “Are you a mage?” she asked.

“No,” the elf replied, seeing no reason to lie, “but I’ve worked with them before. I’m more of a fighter.”

“Do you brawl?” Essie asked, a skeptical crinkle forming in her nose.

“I could beat you into the ground,” Dahlia smiled, leaning forward in her seat, “who do you want me to rough up?” she gestured around the tavern.

Essie looked around, “You see him?” She pointed to a scarred and hairy half-orc on the far side of the tavern, “He comes in every night, gets rowdy, and threatens to run off with one of the girls. You lay him low out in the street without drawing attention to yourself, I’ll take you to my boss.” She looked back at Dahlia, offering her hand, “Deal?”

The elf sized up the half-orc, already tottering from starting his drinking well before sundown and not letting up in the slightest. He was surrounded by two of his kin, and the entire tavern stood between her and him. She watch him gnash his teeth at one of the barmaids behind the poor girls back and say something to his friends that got them all laughing and drained the color from the girl’s face.

Dahlia took Essie’s hand and shook it, “Deal.”

“Come find me when it’s done. Try not to destroy the place,” The barmaid left her with a nod and disappeared through a narrow, partially hidden door behind the bar.

Dahlia gracefully rose from her seat, taking up Kozah’s Needle and breaking it into two staves, then breaking the staff in her right hand into a flail, capturing the swinging end in her hand so it wouldn’t sway as she walked. Without a sound, or too much notice from the other patrons she ducked between tables and barmaids, ultimately coming up to the table of half-orcs against the far wall.

“Pickings are slim tonight,” her target was laughing.

“Prob’ly scared the little wenches off when you took what’s-‘er-face the other night. You know,” said another. They all shared a laugh, “I bet they heard her screaming all the way here.”

“What little screaming she did-“

The elf’s throat tightened, she’d kill these three just on principle, rather than a chance at solid employment for what they’d done to this poor faceless girl. It took everything in her to stay her hand from just cracking him over the skull and being done with it.

“Excuse me,” Dahlia called over the din of the crowded space. She leaned heavily on her four foot staff, ducking her head low so the shadow of her cowl shielded her face.

The burly trio looked at her, angered that such a tiny thing would have the gall to interrupt their conversation. “What peasant?” her target taunted her, shoving her aside. “We’re-“

Dahlia caught his outstretched hand in the chain of her flail, momentarily holding it in place. “You really should treat your women better,” she chided, clicking her tongue.

Furious the large creature pulled his arm back with force. Dahlia didn’t fight the momentum, angling her staff so the force of the orc’s pull sent its end thudding against its prominent brow and knocking him from his chair and into his friend.

The half-orc growled in frustration, swiping at Dahlia with a burly, clawed hand, but the elf danced away, coming around the humanoid’s side and backstepping around a nearby table.

The creature and his two companions rose from their seats in a rage, diving after her and into the unsuspecting table beside them.  The humans at that table rose drawing their weapons and shouting insults at the orcs, and involving other patrons that shared their view on how feral creatures shouldn’t be allowed in a civilized tavern. Three of the creatures were beaten back then, occupied with the tavern turning against them, but Dahlia’s target remained trained on her, chasing her between tables all the way to the back wall.

“You little twig,” he growled, “Come here so I can snap you.”

Dahlia stopped; her back against the wall, and a single, unoccupied table between them. “Your friends can’t help you now,” she said matching him step for step as he tried to round the table to get to her.

The half-orc just laughed.

The elf snapped her flail back into a staff. She clanged the two weapons against the table in what would appear to be a threatening gesture. She did so several times, biding her time.

Tired of the game, the beastly humanoid hurtled over the table. Dahlia ducked under the piece of furniture, pulling it along with her and ultimately tipping it over, shielding her and her target from the view of the rest of the tavern. As the drunken hybrid beast recovered himself from the jump, leaning heavily against the wall for support, Dahlia was on him, snapping her two staves together and ramming them into his chest with all her strength.

For a moment, nothing happened, and the half-orc was ready to take a swing at her. The elf pressed in harder and the fur on his chest began to singe and his body stiffened before convulsing. His eyes rolled back, and greasy white foam formed around the corners of his tusked mouth. After several seconds he stilled, slumping against the wall without a sound. Dahlia pulled her staff away letting him fall to the floor.

She turned, to see the bar fight in full swing; shouting rowdiness and people throwing chairs and mugs of ale trying to run the three remaining half-orcs out of the tavern.

Deftly, the elf broke her staff in half again so it would be easier to manage and backed up to the wall beside her fallen target; a short burst of speed as she ran toward the overturned table, and the elf was safely in the rafters of the low ceiling watching the whole thing unfold. No one seemed to notice her up there, so she waited patiently for the brawl to wind down on its own.

With the half-orcs out in the street accompanied by the body of their dead friend, whose death no one seemed to care about, the patrons were left to drink their ale and talk amongst themselves unmolested. Dahlia, thinking the coast clear, hopped down from her spot in the rafters landing on the table she’d occupied most of the evening and swept off through the door she’d seen the barmaid go through.

“I said ‘lay him low’,” Essie’s voice greeted her, “Not kill him.”

“He was pig. He deserved to die,” Dahlia shot back.

The maid just shrugged, “I suppose I can make a case with the boss. Come with me.” She led the elf from the tavern through a side entrance and down a few alleys before speaking again, “You have name, Miss?”

“None that concerns you, Essie.”

The woman snorted, “Please, call me Esther. Only my brother calls me Essie.”

Dahlia raised a curious eyebrow, not that anyone would have noticed for the bandages on her face, but said nothing for several blocks. Eventually, though, her curiosity got the better of her, “What about this boss of yours? Does he have a name?”

“Conrad,” Esther laughed, “And you are right up his alley.”

“That’s good I suppose.”

“I must wonder, though,” she mused, “Why someone with your skill would want to be a street tough and not some fat lord’s champion?”

Dahlia chewed her lip, “I was a lord’s champion once. But that lord fell and I was exiled. I fell in with a group of idiots for a while and decided that I was fed up sleeping in the woods and pretending.”

It was mostly true, not that it mattered anymore. Her life as she’d known it was over and she had to start fresh; a new place to conquer, a new person to overthrow, and power to gain. She’d earn back her old reputation, if not a better one, in due time. And she had to start somewhere.

Esther led the elf to a small shack tucked away between the back walls of a pair of shops. She took Dahlia in and up to the only piece of furniture in the room; a small desk manned by a halfling.

“Esther? Aren’t you working tonight?” the halfling snorted, brushing shaggy black hair out of his face. He squinted at Dahlia, leaning forward in his chair as he did so,

“Fresh meat,” she replied, pointing over her shoulder to Dahlia, “this one killed Gorum.”

“ _Killed?_ ” the halfling shouted, falling back in his chair with a smile. “And she wants to join?” He paused for a moment “You seem familiar… you wouldn’t happen to be that female highwayman every merchant and his dog has been complaining about from the road North, would you? Your staff fits the description.”

Dahlia nodded slightly, a bit unnerved by the joyful laugh the small man gave.

“Alright,” he clapped his tiny hands together, “take her downstairs and give her a room for the night. We’ll put her through her paces before taking her to the guildhouse.” He shot Dahlia a coy smirk and a wink.

The elf sighed, following Esther past the desk and to a trap door. After several flights of stairs, she was brought to a hallway lined with doors sporting various sounds beyond them and was told the last room on the left would be hers. The room was small, sporting low straw bed, a small wash closet, and a single candle for light.

Well, it was better than sleeping outdoors.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Artemis watched Drizzt pace at the window, calmly sipping a glass of some liquor. “Why are you doing that?” He asked after a short while.

“Doing what?” Drizzt asked, stopping.

The assassin narrowed his eyes, “Burning a hole in the floor.”

Drizzt looked down at the scuffs he’d left in the wood. He sat down on the bed with a sigh, his back to the human, “I’ve been so… anxious lately. I don’t know why, I feel like something terrible is going to happen.”

Artemis rose from his chair by the door and sat on the bed with the ranger, “Something terrible always happens.”

“You’re so comforting.” Drizzt looked over his shoulder to see Entreri smirking at him. He flopped backward onto the bed with an exasperated noise, “Can’t something go right for us for once? Can’t Jarlaxle just come back and say ‘oh hey, everything’s fine, Tiago’s stopped chasing you, go do something else’?”

“Are we thinking of the same Jarlaxle? Because the one I know would never say ‘everything’s fine’ it’s always: ‘Hey, let’s go kill your old mentor’ or ‘Hey, let’s go steal the Crystal Shard from Do’Urden’ or  ‘Hey, let’s go hunt liches! That’ll be fun!’”

“ ’Hunt liches’?” Drizzt asked.

“I could have sworn I told you about that,” Artemis said flopping down beside him. “It was awful. I destroyed an ancient Netherese artifact.” Apparently the assassin remembered the moment and thought the memory was hilarious, dissolving into a fit a drunken laughter.

“I think you’ve had enough to drink tonight,” Drizzt said, catching some of Entreri’s laughter, “Gods forbid you wake up hung over.”

“I haven’t had a hangover since I was seventeen,” Artemis argued, but relinquished the glass when Drizzt tried to take it from him. “Oh-“ he said, perhaps a bit too loudly for his liking, for he lowered his voice before continuing, “Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask you about this morning.”

The ranger swallowed nervously, trying not to look directly at the human, “Yes? What about it?”

Artemis was still laughing a little, propping himself up on his elbow, and drunkenly pointing at the ranger, “You,” he said drawing out the ‘u’ “tried to kill me.”

And just like that Artemis Entreri was sober; his face serious, the wobble in his accusatory point gone, the look in his eyes present and harsh. Drizzt tried to retreat, but he’d let the assassin get too close, and the human’s free hand came up to hold him in place, ultimately knocking him down and pinning him to the bed.

“I saw you,” Artemis said, the slur in his voice gone the way of his laughter, “you held the razor to my throat, you thought about it, and it scared you.”

“No-“

“Don’t you _think_ about lying to me,” Artemis growled, his face inches from Drizzt’s.

The ranger stammered a bit, looking helpless. He’d thought Artemis had forgiven the little outburst that morning, had forgotten about it as he drank. But no, it had all been ruse. Drizzt scolded himself internally for forgetting what Entreri was capable of, what a talented actor he was. The drow struggled, searching for an explanation, a justification, something to diminish the human’s anger, but came up empty time and again, ultimately settling on, “I’m sorry. I don’t know where it came from-“

Artemis’s scowl deepened, “What does that mean?”

“The thought,” Drizzt explained, “just came out of nowhere. How easy it would have been.”

“And it scared you,” Artemis noted, “that’s why you had the episode.”

Drizzt nodded, “I wasn’t even sure you’d noticed anything before that,” he continued. His voice was desperate, and broke embarrassingly as he spoke.

“No one holds a knife to my throat without me noticing,” Artemis sighed, releasing the elf, “But you aren’t the type to just randomly act violently. At least, I hadn’t thought so.”

The ranger shook his head, short white strands of a cropped lock of hair digging into his cheek, “No, I’m not. I still can’t place where that came from, and I had it under control.”

“This time,” Artemis shot back, “What happens next time? You stab me and say, ‘well, I didn’t _kill_ you did I’?”

Drizzt put his hand on Artemis’s cheek, and then the other on the opposite side, forcing the assassin to look him in the eye, “I have no reason to want to hurt you,” he said slowly, “I still need you at my side, to keep me sane and level, I can’t afford to lose you to anyone, least of all myself.” He felt Artemis’s jaw clench beneath his hands, “This… isn’t anything I can’t handle. I think I’m just going a bit stir crazy being in one place for too long. Tomorrow,” he released the assassin’s face, “we’ll talk to the others, see if there isn’t something out there we can do while we wait for news on Gautlgrym.”

Entreri’s shoulders relaxed a bit, but his jaw was still tight, “Fine,” he said, “we’ll see what happens.”

He collapsed back down on the bed and Drizzt settled in beside him, feeling the human tense as he got close. “Artemis,” he whispered into the human’s side, “I don’t mean you harm. You have to believe me.”

Entreri didn’t reply.


	2. A Plan

Saribel leaned forward in her chair, splaying her hands across the table, bemused expression on her face. “So, you plan to act on Tiago’s standing orders,” she said, making sure she’d heard the spellspinner correctly, “even though Tiago is no longer here?”

Ravel nodded at his sister, and Berellip groaned loudly. “Are you serious?” she snarled, “Weren’t you always criticizing him for-“

“I was criticizing him for not consulting me,” Ravel corrected, “What he was doing was dangerous for someone not properly versed in magic. It will be much safer to keep the humans and dwarves at bay with me at the helm.”

Berellip snorted.

“Sister,” Saribel scolded, “secrecy _is_ an issue. We must take the proper measures to ensure the prosperous fruition of Matron Zeerith’s investment, don’t you agree?” The two priestesses shared a knowing look before turning their eyes to Ravel.

The spellspinner swallowed, feeling the part of a page prince once more.

“When do you plan to act?” Berellip asked.

“Soon,” he replied, “a few days or so. Why? Do you wish to attend?”

“We just need to know,” Saribel said flippantly as she and the other priestess rose from their chairs, “may the gods help you if you surprise us with something like this.”

Ravel nodded to them as they left, “I would never do such a thing.” But the women were already gone.

The spellspinner breathed a sigh of relief once they were well out of earshot. He hadn’t expected the priestesses to take the news so well, it had taken him weeks to gather up the resolve to make the decision in the first place, much less tell the temperamental women that he was going through with something so reckless. In fact, a small part of Ravel hoped that they would at least attempt to talk him out of it.

He took several deep breaths.

He had this under control.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Draygo Quick was fussing with papers on his desk; he moved books, opened and shut drawers, tapped his foot impatiently.

“Something the matter, Lord Quick?”

Draygo spun in his chair. “You,” he stood, “are withholding information from me, Oblodra, and I do not appreciate it.” He closed the gap between himself and the drow, “I want everything you know on the Sundering and the sonnet and I want it now.”

Kimmuriel shrugged his shoulders, “Is this why you sent for me? You know, I am a very busy man and I don’t have time for your little panic attacks and impatience.” He cracked his knuckles, sweeping past the fuming lord and examining the contents of his desk, “As for the answers you seek, I, sadly, do not have them. Prophecy is only so clear and specifics are, for lack of a better term, difficult to come by. I assure you, as I have assured you a hundred times, that when I have answers, I will share them with you.”

“You’re lying,” Draygo accused.

The drow let out a small chuckle, “Oh? And what proof do you have of that?”

“I know,” he closed the gap between them again, “that the Bregan D’aerthe is in your hands now. And that those illithids of yours haven’t reported in, in weeks.” Kimmuriel raised a curious eyebrow for a brief moment before letting it drop into a scowl as Draygo added, “I want to speak with them.”

“Excuse me?”

“I want to speak with your illithid allies,” Draygo clarified, “gather what they know on the subject.”

“And what makes you think,” Kimmuriel asked with a condescending laugh, “that _they_ will want to speak with _you_?”

“Convince them.”

“No.”

Draygo scowled, “Why? What do you have to hide from me?”

Kimmuriel shook his head, “No, you misunderstand me, you idiot. I mean I’m not going to try to convince them to do anything else. I already had Jarlaxle’s little rescue mission to get them on board with, any more oversteps and I’ll be going down links in the food chain. You will just have to wait for me to give you the answers, as we initially agreed.” The sharp twang of annoyance rang in his voice, “Stop trying to rearrange the agreement. You have already betrayed me once; I will not tolerate any more insubordination.”

“I do not take orders from you,” Draygo shouted.

The psionicist blinked at him calmly, “If you cannot agree to my terms, Lord Quick,” his voice had lost its edge, had lost any tone quality at all, “then you will find your own answers and my resources will be but a memory.”

Quick felt the rage melt away, “I- fine. I surrender. I will mind my own business.”

Kimmuriel studied him closely. Quick felt a slight tingling at the base of his skull.

“I don’t think so,” Kimmuriel snorted, “deal’s off” He turned on his heel to leave.

Draygo ran to stop him, but he was already gone. The lord sank against his desk. “Of course,” he chuckled, shaking his head, “Of course you would call off the deal.” He dug through his stack of paper for a particular sheet of vellum. He looked over the notes patiently.

The knock came to his door just when he’d expected it to.

“Any news?” he asked as the Shifter entered.

“Nothing of note yet. But there are whispers.”

Draygo smiled, “Perfect.”

-0-0-0-0-0-

It was a late morning for Drizzt Do’Urden and his company. The sleepless night didn’t help the drow’s slightly angry disposition as the group discussed their options over breakfast. The first few ideas were minor; hunting little enemies and ne’er-do-wells or finding some place to feed the poor. Ambergris suggested raiding Gauntlgrym a few times and was shot down almost every time.

The third time she suggested it, Effron chimed in, “What about the earthquakes?” he asked, “We told the people of Neverwinter we would help them with it.”

“We shouldn’t go back to Neverwinter until we know what Tiago’s status is,” Drizzt replied.

“But what,” Effron said with enthusiasm, “if we didn’t have to go to Neverwinter? The quakes are being caused by the primordial. We can go to some other major city and ask around on how to keep it tempered.”

Athrogate made a derisive noise, “Bah, ye’re _assuming_ the primordial’s causing the earthquakes. There’s a chance the initial quake, what’d’ey call it? ‘The Great Quake’? Could have opened a fault or weak’ed the tunnel walls b’low Neverwinter, and the new one’s’re all natural and not something ye can just fix with a wave o’ wagglin’ fingers.”

Artemis dropped his mug and it shattered on the floor, “That,” he said, never taking his eyes off the dwarf, “is the single most intelligent thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“ _Bwahaha_ ,”was Athrogate’s reply.

“Dwarves know stone,” Ambergris added with a chuckle and a shrug.

“Then we’ll need to figure out a way to prove they aren’t natural,” Effron conceded, no small amount of frustration in his voice.

“Or,” Afafrenfere interjected to avoid the argument, “there are rumors of a bandit in the south. Just north of Waterdeep. Word has it he’s a menace, but is too far out of the city for the guards to do anything about it.” When no one seemed to care he tacked on, “it could hurt trade in Neverwinter?” but he was paid no mind.

“Where would we go for that kind of proof?” Drizzt asked, looking to the dwarves.

Athrogate shrugged and Ambergris replied, “Not sure, aside from going there and lookin’ for ourselves.”

“We could consult a wizard,” Artemis laughed sarcastically and shot a pointed look at Effron.

When the rest of the eyes at the table turned to him the warlock help up his hand, shaking his head, “Whoa, I don’t know anything about that kind of magic. You’ll need someone that could summon an earth elemental or some such thing. I tinker, I design magical items and raise the unwillful dead. Something with sentience is not my line of work.”

The gazes of the group rounded the table, each gaining a succinct, negative answer. Eventually all eyes were on Drizzt.

“Well?” Artemis prompted after several moments of silence.

“I used to know some mages in Longsaddle, not too far east of Neverwinter. It’s been a long while since I’ve spoken to any of them, I don’t know if they would be able, or willing, to help us.”

Several moments of silence followed. Artemis leaned back in his chair, “It’s something to do while we wait for news from Neverwinter, so it’s worth a shot.”

The rest of the group looked curiously at Artemis, and then at Drizzt.

“Why waste our time though?” Drizzt argued, “It’s been generations, they might turn us away at the door.”

“Or, they charge for their services,” Artemis shot back, “we pay the fee and we’re one step closer to helping Neverwinter, just like your bleeding heart wanted.”

“Excuse you?”

Artemis snorted, “You made those people a promise you obviously cannot keep, and those people have been waiting for months for you to make good on that promise. What if it isn’t the primordial? Hells, what if it is? Do think any of us would be able to even get close enough to try and stop it before the drow noticed us and ran us out of there?”

“Must you be so critical?”

“Somebody has to,” Artemis rose from his seat, cautiously stepping over glass, to fetch a fresh drink and a broom.

Drizzt hung his head, rubbing his temples.

The group split up after breakfast, resolving to finish whatever minor tasks they had in Port Llast and leave at dawn.

-0-0-0-0-0-

“Six more are dead.”

“Really? So soon?”

“Well,” a sigh, “Some of them are from days ago. Around the time the second batch was found.”

“Oh. Do you think it might be-“

“Hush,” sharp and interrupting, “Don’t say it. We’re barely on neutral ground as it is. If one of them finds out what we know, we’ll go the way of the others that picked sides.”

“What if we don’t-“

“Oh, they’ll make us pick.”

Tiago leaned back against the wall and cursed under his breath. Six more dead mercenaries on top of the twenty or so that had been piling up over the last few months. Some whispers hinted at a hostile retaliation from Jarlaxle, others suggested Kimmuriel securing his power. Either way, things did not look good for the rogue Baenre hiding in their midst; stolen armor, a clean shave, and a haircut was a disguise that could only hold up for so long.

He’d been listening to so many of these worried conversations and every time he considered returning to Menzoberranzan, steeped in failure, and begging for the forgiveness of his matron. But then his better judgment kicked in and reminded him that Quenthel wasn’t a forgiving woman, and if he showed his face in the City of Spiders without a victory under his belt he would be on a one way trip to the driders’ compound.

Tiago knocked his head against the wall at his back to clear the fog of anxiety that blurred his thoughts.

He couldn’t stay here much longer.

But where would he go?

-0-0-0-0-0-

Dahlia raised a confused eyebrow, “What is this place?”

Esther laughed, “You looked like you needed to let off some steam. Benny’s only begun to put you through your paces and if you lose it now, you’ll not only lose your place in the guild, but make a liar out of me.” She clapped Dahlia on the shoulder, “And I don’t want to go on probation because of you.”

The elf’s expression grew even more confused, “Benny?”

“The halfling,” the human replied, “Oh what? You thought I was going to take you to the guildmaster on the first night?” She laughed, not mocking or mean, but genuinely jovial, as if Dahlia had told an uproariously funny joke. “Oh no, Benny’s the quartermaster. He takes in the new people, puts them to the test, and if they show a special aptitude he sends them to Conrad in Skullport. At least, that’s what I’ve heard,” Esther offered a shrug, “I’ve never been special enough to get out of Waterdeep.”

Dahlia nodded as the information clicked, “And you hope your investment in me be your ticket out.”

“Oh I don’t hope,” she laughed, clapping Dahlia again. “I’m counting on it.”

Esther led Dahlia down the wide alley and into the throng of people, “They don’t get many women here,” she explained, as several lurid glances landed on them, “so keep your wits about you, and don’t mess around. You want them to take you seriously, not swoon, yeah?”

“Why can’t they do both?” Dahlia quipped, and earned a scornful look from Esther.

“Some battles cannot be won on wiles alone.”

“You would be surprised.”

They came to a small, empty space beside the chalk ring at the end of the alley. The two women shed their cloaks; Esther donned a pair of sturdy gloves, Dahlia unlaced her tunic, letting the collar fall low about her shoulders. The human scoffed at her, “Looks like you’re on first,” she nodded to the rowdy bunch of men whistling and hollering at the elf, thinking she intended to undress fully, “let’s see how seriously they take you.”

Dahlia tightened the bandages about her face, and straightened out her torn leggings. She took up her staff, but a strong hand stopped her. “No weapons in the ring,” Esther warned, “This is all you.”

The elf nodded, and crossed the chalk circle just as a trio of men pulled their fallen comrade from the ring. He lay there, moaning and bleeding just outside the circle, his comrades leaving him. The bruises on his face were rapidly transitioning from purple to black, and blood leaked out of ears. He probably wouldn’t survive the night.

Her opponent entered the circle with a cheer from the crowd at his back. Or, her back as it were, as Esther entered the ring right behind Dahlia, knocking the elf into the center of the circle.

The human offered Dahlia a smug smile, “Come now, pretty girl, let’s see what you’re really made of.”

Esther swung first, a sharp right hook to Dahlia’s cheek, too fast to be blocked or avoided. Dahlia let the momentum of the blow knock her down and away. She rolled as she hit the ground, rising to her feet at the edge of the ring. Esther gave chase.

“Be careful with that pretty face!” A large, surly brute with few teeth, and fewer brain cells hollered, “Give us something to enjoy when you knock her cold!”

Dahlia grabbed the offensive man by his collar, using the element of surprise and his own drunkenness to pull him into the circle and right into Esther’s path, knocking them both down.

The crowd around them roared.

“I’m surprised you didn’t let me square off against someone like him,” Dahlia panted as she watched the human rise. “Sex-minded pigs are my specialty.”

Esther locked with her, exchanging blows and quick guards. The human was strong, but slower than Dahlia, and the elf managed to dance circles around the barmaid. “No one cares what you want to take down, girlie,” Esther panted, falling away after the elf landed a solid jab to her torso, “You should be willing to take on anything. Anyone. Even your friends.”

Dahlia scoffed and spat a pink smudge on the ground. “You think we’re friends?”

“I think you’re desperate.”

Dahlia felt her stomach tighten and growl rumble in her throat. She threw herself at Esther, leading with a flurry of blows too quick to be blocked. The human took the beating in stride, waiting for the elf to tire, and tackling her to the ground when she did.

The crowd roared again.

“You aren’t fit for this,” Esther growled, pinning Dahlia to the dirt, “But Benny seems to like you.” She laughed, “I take you out, I go to Skullport.”

The elf snapped back her elbow, clipping the human in the face, then switched arms when the grip on her shoulders weakened, snapping back another blow and knocking the girl off of her. In the blink of an eye their positions were reversed. Dahlia held her to the dirt by her throat.

“And what,” she panted, pressing down on the girl, “if _I_ end _you?_ Does that get me in to the guild? Does that get me a ticket to the guildmaster’s circle?”

Esther sneered at her, and Dahlia punched her in the face, feeling the crunch of bone against her knuckles and a wave of pain up her arm. Despite that pain, Dahlia struck the girl again.

And again.

The crowd of men roared with enthusiasm around her as she continued to press on Esther’s throat and beat the woman that had tried to betray her.

Dahlia Sin’felle was not one to be used.

And then, the crowd grew quiet, breathless and timid. The sudden silence drew Dahlia back into reality and sharpened image of blood and fragments of bone in the dust before her. Without a word, the elf rose, collected her staff and her cloak, as well as Esther’s. The men watched her, quiet and anxious. With a shrug of her shoulder, Dahlia adjusted the collar of her tunic to more properly cover herself and left the brawlers, and their back-alley ring, behind her.

When she arrived at the safe house, the halfling, Benny, was pouring a pair of glasses of wine, “Essie,” he said triumphant as he turned around, “How-“ His face fell when he saw Dahlia.

The elf tossed the dead human’s cloak on the halfling’s desk, taking the glass of wine intended for her assassin in a steady, bloodied hand. She downed the drink quickly, cringing at the sour, weak swill, before throwing the glass to the floor. Dahlia disappeared through the trapdoor and back to her room before the quartermaster even had a chance to catch his train of thought.

“Oh,” he said to the broken glass on the floor, “Oh, I like you.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Arunika kneaded the tense muscles of his neck, trying to coax him out of the chair and back into the bedroom. This had become something of a routine for them since they’d agreed to a living arrangement.

But tonight Jarlaxle was resistant.

She wrapped her arms about his neck, leaning forward, “Something troubles you?”

The dark elf said nothing, lost in his thoughts.

Frustrated, Arunika took a chair beside him. “You know,” she said, finally giving up, “Do’Urden and his group are leaving Llast tomorrow.”

That got the mercenary’s attention. “What?”

“Do’Urden and his company,” the succubus repeated slowly, “are leaving Port Llast tomorrow.”

The drow scowled, tipping back his wide brimmed hat, “And you’re only telling me this now?”

Arunika slapped him, “You are here as a guest, and I will not tolerate being spoken to in that tone. They only just decided this morning and you were too busy off killing your own men or whatever it is you do.”

Jarlaxle took a deep breath, held it, and released it through his nose. He’d been edgy since the loss of his guild, and had been unnecessarily taking it out on the people that hovered in his orbit. Valas Hune had gotten a pretty nasty reaming that morning after only half of the targets Jarlaxle had assigned turned up dead. Obviously his men had grown lazy in the absence of real orders, and he had not been in the mood to tolerate it.

Valas had almost struck him in offended frustration too.

“My apologies,” he said, “that was uncalled for. Do you know where they are going?”

“Longsaddle,” Arunika answered, her face softening, “they leave at dawn.”

He collected his cloak from the back of his chair, “I can still catch them.”

Arunika took him by the arm as he went past, “You need to relax,” she whispered, layering a persuasive charm into her voice. She knew he’d resist her magic, but it never hurt, “you can leave in a few hours and still make it by the time they wake.” She rose, sliding her hand up his bare arm and wrapping her arms around his neck again, “You don’t want to rattle Do’Urden with your unease, do you?”

The elf watched her out of the corner of his eye. She had a point, a very valid point, but he had to prioritize. “When I return,” he promised, “I will make up for lost time.” He slipped from her embrace, “But I must go.” And he swept off into the night.

Arunika collapsed back into her chair, pouting. “Some deal.”

-0-0-0-0-0-

The door banged a little louder than Drizzt had expected it to. Entreri spun at the noise, tense and ready for anything, but relaxed a bit when he realized Drizzt wasn’t armed to hurt him.

“What is going on?” Drizzt asked, “Why are you still so angry with me?”

Artemis made a face, as if the answer should have been obvious.

“I have told you a dozen times or more,” Drizzt pleaded, “That it was nothing. That it was under control. Why won’t you believe me? Do you really trust me so little?”

The assassin scoffed, “It’s not that I don’t believe you on this particular incident, which I don’t, by the way, it’s that I’ve started to notice some things. Since you feel the need to get everything out on the table now, let’s do that.” He held out his hands, “You’re using me as a crutch for whatever problem you have going on in that pretty little head of yours.”

“Artemis, I woul-“

“Shut up,” the human snapped, “I know something is going on, I don’t _what_ but it’s something and you are using our relationship as a crutch so you don’t have to think about it.” Artemis closed the gap between them, “Let’s just say, for the sake of argument that you didn’t want to actually kill me yesterday. If that’s the case, then why act like it? For even the briefest of moments, why? Do you want to create conflict where there isn’t any? Are you trying to tell me something? What is it?”

“Artemis-“ Drizzt struggled under the harshness of the human’s stare, “That’s not what this is. I’m not using you. I’m not trying to make you hate me.”

“Then what are you trying to do?” Artemis’s voice grew harsher, “You say you want me to trust you to have yourself under control, and yet you hold a knife to my throat.”

The ranger couldn’t respond.

“You said that if anything was wrong, if anything was out of your control you would tell me, but I’m starting to think that isn’t true.” The assassin calmed a bit, “I’m starting to think that you just want this as an escape, as a crutch, and you don’t care at all for what happens between us. I think you’re comfortable with lying to me, that you want me to hate you again.”

“Maybe I do-“ Drizzt nearly shouted, disrupting Entreri’s diatribe, “Maybe I do want you to hate me again because this,” Drizzt gestured between them, lacking the words to describe what was between them, “is… intimidating. Maybe I’m not comfortable with the thought of trusting the man that tried to kill me for years, that took the woman I loved hostage, impersonated my friend, and slept with my woman behind my back with secrets I hid from even my dearest companions the entire time that I knew them. Maybe I’m not comfortable enough to trust you because being around you is like… being trapped in a cave with a sleeping bear.” The ranger paused, laughing, “Actually, no, I spent an entire winter in a cave with a sleeping bear and it was much less nerve wracking than this.”

He saw Entreri’s jaw clench.

“Maybe I don’t trust you,” Drizzt said, trying to temper the tremble in his voice, “because I know you. I know what you are capable of, and how manipulative you can be. And let’s not forget the fact that you don’t trust me either, but let me make one thing clear: I am not using you as a crutch. I know what would happen to me if I did.”

The human scowled, but the expression didn’t hold, instead he just looked flat, saddened even.

“The last time I trusted someone to get their thoughts together on their own, I almost lost you,” Artemis confessed, crossing to the door, “And before that, I almost lost my own life. So, forgive me, if I do not want to make the same mistake a third time.” He hesitated at the door for a moment.

Drizzt wanted to stop him, but didn’t know what to say to do so.

Artemis was obviously disappointed as he left, “Good night, Drizzt. Get some proper sleep, okay?”


	3. An Angered Blaze

Drizzt felt the presence before he heard the soft click of bootfalls at his back. At first he’d thought Entreri had returned to restart their argument after a breath of fresh air, but when the clamor of jewelry and click of heavy shoes rattled his sharply pointed ears he knew that was not the case. Reluctant and more than a little exhausted, the ranger turned around, nodding his head in greeting to Jarlaxle.

“Trouble in paradise?” the older drow asked, gesturing to the tense air of the room. The weak smile on his face fell when he got a better look at Drizzt, “You look awful. Are you sick?”

“I’m fine,” Drizzt said, unable to hide the frustrated annoyance in his voice. “What news do you have for me?”

Jarlaxle chewed his lip a bit before answering. “I,” he hesitated, “I do not.”

The ranger groaned softly, rubbing his temple, “What does that mean?”

“I have no news on Tiago’s status,” Jarlaxle explained with a shrug, “He disappeared shortly after your group left Neverwinter and hasn’t been spotted since. All I know for certain is that he is no longer in charge of the Gauntlgrym complex and has not yet returned to Menzoberranzan.”

Drizzt growled low in his throat, “You, Jarlaxle, don’t have this little piece of information? What in the Hells have you been up to?”

“Don’t take that tone with me,” Jarlaxle snarled back, “I’m a busy man, and my life doesn-“ he stopped, gave Drizzt a quick onceover and decided against the anger route, “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem off.”

“Why does everyone suddenly want to concern themselves with my health? I told you I was fine. Leave it,” the younger drow snapped, spinning on his heel to face the window and leaning against the sill. He pressed his forehead to the cool glass, feeling unbearably warm. When he pulled his head back after several deep breaths Jarlaxle smacked him across the back of his head, knocking it against the glass with a _thunk_.

He didn’t sound angry, “I’m tired of this crazy behavior, and I have almost no doubt that Artemis is too and that’s why he’s not here.” He turned the ranger to face him, “What is going on?”

Drizzt’s jaw clenched. He knew he wasn’t getting out of this without saying something. “I can’t sleep,” he sighed. “I haven’t been able to for days.”

Jarlaxle’s judgmental expression softened and he took a step back. “I’m not surprised,” he said after a few moments, much to Drizzt’s confusion. He laughed at the puzzled expression, “Your father was the same way.”

“What?”

“Zaknafein had sleeping problems too,” Jarlaxle smiled, but there was a pain there Drizzt had never seen before, “He tried everything; breathing exercises, stretches, tea. You name it: he tried it and it didn’t work,” a pained laugh this time, “He used to get ornery like that too, downright cranky sometimes, it was kind of charming until he started punching people for breathing too loudly.”

Drizzt rolled his eyes, not remembering any signs of insomnia in his father, “He obviously found something that worked. What was it?” He tried not to sound needy, but knew he was failing.

Something in his chest ached.

“Drugs mostly,” Jarlaxle joked, only to realize that it was in poor taste based on Drizzt’s expression. A bit more seriously, “Sometimes he would work himself into exhaustion, until his body just couldn’t take it anymore, but that wound up doing more harm than good.” The mercenary thought for a moment, “Music helped, if I remember right. He could fall asleep to a hymn faster than anyone and it made the priestesses so very angry.”

“Helpful,” Drizzt deadpanned.

The mercenary leader offered a defeated shrug, “It was always a problem when I knew him, and one to which he never found a solution. What he did once he was part of house Do’Urden isn’t something I was privy to.”

The ranger hung his head, “Is there any information you have in that loony head of yours that can actually help me?”

“Aside from poisoning yourself with sleep darts? Not on this matter.” Jarlaxle shook his head, “But I might be able to help you with your little relationship problem.”

“Stay out of my relationship, Jarlaxle, I’ve already done enough damage, I don’t need you mucking it up further.”

But the mercenary wasn’t taking that, “Go out of your way for him. Do something for him that doesn’t benefit yourself. He responds to that.”

Drizzt softened a bit, genuinely surprised at the halfway decent advice, “I’ll keep it in mind.”

Jarlaxle rocked on his heels, “I should go, before Artemis comes back and picks a fight with me. Should you all decide to go to Neverwinter,” he warned, “I suggest you lay low until I can pin down Tiago, Dahlia, and their supporters.”

Drizzt nodded.

The mercenary wanted to say more; to say something to ease the troubled mind of the exhausted young drow leaning against the window sill, all ashen complexion and slightly puffy eyes. He came up with nothing though, and was forced to slink away when Drizzt finally turned his back to him again.

Artemis came back in shortly after Drizzt finally willed himself to collapse on the bed. Drizzt felt the bed shift as the human settled in to join him, staying close to the edge and making no move to get closer.

The ranger felt a sting behind his eyes as he held them shut, struggling to calm himself enough for rest. But, even when he managed to sleep, Drizzt was awake again in a few moments, trembling and insufferably warm right down to his bones, trying his best not to wake the light sleeper beside him.

-0-0-0-0-0-

“What is the status of the slaves?” Razlaould asked, jotting down notes, and translating the ancient dwarven runes running along a section of wall. “Has the Elder sent them yet?”

“Last I heard” the other illithid replied, thumbing through a small selection of books. “What do you make of this?” he asked, holding up their copy of the sonnet.

“I do not want anything to do with that garbage,” Razlaould replied with a wet growl, “It is awful, barely even poetry and quite possibly one of the worst prophecies I have read in a great while.”

His partner gave a wet, coughing laugh, “In all my years I have not seen someone as judgmental about prophecies as you.”

“It is a shoddy translation at best, and does nothing to further our knowledge of the Sundering, given that we already know what it is,” there was a bite of annoyance in his otherworldly voice, projected enough to be confused for spoken words. “I am tired of every two-bit hack that thinks himself a translator rewriting prophecy and trying to pass it off as insightful when, in reality, it is an insult to all the literate races.”

Razlaould’s companion blinked at him and made a thoughtful noise. “So there is that militant fight I have heard whispers about.”

Razlaould made a derisive, unnatural noise, “Do not even start with that rumor-“

“No, let us clear the air. I have maintained a professional curiosity on the matter, and now that the subject has been broached. Is that rumor true?” The illithid came up beside his companion, “That you were trained in martial combat and military strategy, but switched to art and history when you arrived in Oryndoll? What stole the fight from you? What sent you from triumph and tyranny to books and ruins?”

“I do not wish to discuss this,” Razlaould growled, “You are surrounded by millennia of ancient dwarven knowledge unprotected by the dwarves themselves and all you can think about are the rumors being whispered amongst the temperamental? You disappoint me, Tel’kashir.”

“Why do you care so much for these lesser races and their history? They will soon belong to us anyway.”

“Are you so short sighted?” Razlaould made a weak gurgling noise, tentacles relaxing a bit, “If we can learn from the mistakes of our enemies, of the inferior races, we can better understand them and not repeat our tragic history borne from rash judgment and hasty conquering. Oh, but wait, you do not study history, so would not know of our people’s failures.”

“What did you just say?” The offense was evident in his tone.

Razlaould, ready to argue his point was cut short by vibration beneath their feet, strong enough to throw a less balanced creature to the floor. He and his partner lifted, tentacles twitching curiously.

“The primordial?” Tel’kashir asked.

Razlaould palmed a talisman in his pocket, concerned that he may have to use its protective magic before his study was complete. “Let us see.”

With a passing thought, they rose into the shadows of the ceiling. Weaving between stalactites, and hovering through alcoves they made their way in secret to the primordial’s chamber. The rumbling knocked lose stones from ceilings and walls around them. One nearly clipped Razlaould as they settled in a small outcropping high above the chamber.

“The prison weakened, but not broken,” Razlaould mused, “A testament to the strength of the primordial?”

“I doubt it,” Tel’kashir led his partner’s gaze to small gathering of drow not far from the chamber. “It looks to be a purposeful endeavor to keep would be trespassers at bay.”

“That is so stupid I’d swear it gave me heartburn,” Razlaould coughed.

As quickly as it had begun, the quake was over, the water elementals surrounding the primordial regained their strength and numbers, and the restless, savage creature calmed in its prison.

“We will have to discuss this with Kimmuriel when he returns from the Shadowfell,” Razlaould commented, “Something must be done about this.”

“Such care,” the other illithid taunted.

“I will not watch this much untouched history be destroyed before I have a chance to study it,” snapped Razlaould, turning to face his partner with and angry twitch of his tentacles, “if you have a problem with that take it up with someone who cares for your opinion.”

Tel’kashir growled at his back, but Razlaould didn’t bother to turn back and argue with it.

-0-0-0-0-0-

They set out early from Port Llast, leaving as the sun rose on the horizon. Drizzt hung in the back of the group, too beaten down to try and circle the group as it moved. He pressed a hand to his face multiple times, trying to diffuse the burn of the sunlight in his eyes and feeling the swelling around the sockets. His head pounded angrily with every step, and he felt dizzy every few steps, but he managed to keep it under wraps. At least, as far as his addled brain could tell he was maintaining a stoic façade.

Artemis wasn’t buying into the ruse for a second. Drizzt nearly jumped out of his boots when the assassin appeared beside him and splashed cold water on his face.

“What?” Drizzt whirled around, hand on the hilt of his blade.

Artemis made a concerned face, “You’re sleepwalking.”

“What?” Drizzt asked again, a bit calmer this time.

The assassin’s concerned expression deepened into a scowl. “You’ve been asleep on your feet since we left Llast,” he said, “the day is almost over, we will have to stop and make camp soon.” After a moment’s study the human added, “Or, we could switch to the mounts now and ride hard for Longsaddle, we would probably make it there by morning if we rode all night.”

“It’s risky,” Drizzt said, “We’re on the edge of Neverwinter wood. There’s a chance we might be noticed.”

“And there’s a chance you could fall apart from lack of sleep,” Artemis quipped, “Both are likely outcomes.”

Drizzt wanted to argue, but there was no fight left in him, “What do you suggest?”

“You actually want my input?” The assassin feigned surprise, “Because I thought I was just here to antagonize you and pick up the pieces when you screw up.”

“Don’t be so spiteful,” Drizzt sighed. He wanted to shake the man, and part of him almost did. He could feel the urge to come clean, to beg for help tighten his throat almost to choking him. He whimpered quietly before he could stop himself.

Concern returned to the assassin’s voice, “When was the last time you slept?” he whispered, closing the gap between himself and the ranger so the rest of the group wouldn’t hear them when a few worried glances came their way. “Be honest.”

“I don’t know. Five days? Six?” He was too beaten down to lie anymore.

Artemis stopped, taking hold of Drizzt and forcing the ranger to stop with him. “What?” he hissed, “Six days? How are you not dead?”

“I sleep a little,” the drow confessed, berating himself internally for it, “an hour or so here or there. Enough to keep me going, but not enough to…” he trailed off, not knowing how to word it.

Artemis continued scowling at him for some time before saying, “We’ll ride through the night for Longsaddle. I’d rather take the risk of being spotted than have you drop in the middle of the road.”

Drizzt nodded, unable to argue with the assassin’s suggestion. Artemis left him for a moment to relay the plan to the others; Drizzt vaguely heard the words ‘unwell’ and ‘heat-exhaustion’ pop up in the assassin’s voice. Ambergris offered to heal him, but Artemis shot it down, claiming that if they were spotted her magic could better be used elsewhere and all Drizzt would need was a good night’s rest and plenty of water. The human returned after a bit, whistling to get Drizzt’s attention and pointing to the drow’s necklace, “Summon your unicorn,” he said, “we’re riding together.”

Drizzt did as he was told, leaning heavily against the assassin once they were mounted. “I didn’t mean to worry you,” he mumbled into the folds of the assassin’s cloak. The lethargy and dizziness magnified themselves one hundred fold once he was stationary.

“You should have told me sooner,” Artemis scolded, but there wasn’t much anger in his voice, “it explains a great deal.”

“I’ve gone without sleep before.”

Artemis elbowed him in the side, and Drizzt stopped trying to argue, relaxing against the human’s back and shoulder. He heard the soft whispers of his companions expressing concern for his health once Entreri caught up with them, and was thankful that the human dismissed them.

When the shadowy fog in Drizzt’s head cleared again, he was being nudged gently. It was dark, and they were stopped. “We’re here,” Artemis’s voice called softly, “Afafrenfere’s getting us a room and the others are already inside.”

The two men slid from the unicorn’s back. Drizzt stumbled a bit as he landed, lightheaded, and the world was spinning at a nauseating rate. A strong hand took hold of his arm and held him steady.

“You’re going to be the death of me, Do’Urden,” Artemis grumbled, guiding the ranger to the inn.

Drizzt was so out of sorts he didn’t even register that they’d entered a building until he was tossed roughly onto a bed. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, taking in the small, probably cheap room; sparsely furnished, with two beds.

Of course, Drizzt thought, he is still angry.

A gentle hand came to his shoulder, “Lie down,” Artemis ordered, “go to sleep.”

“I-“

“Don’t argue with me.”

“I can’t sleep, Artemis,” Drizzt pleaded, “I start to nod off and I jerk awake, I’ve been trying for nights now don’t-“ The hand on his shoulder squeezed and the ranger quieted, turning to give the human a desperate look. “I’ve been taking it out on you, I’m sorry.”

Artemis shushed him, but Drizzt wouldn’t listen. “No,” the ranger said, holding up a hand for emphasis, “you took me in when I needed you, risked yourself for me and I’ve been… I’ve been punishing you for it. You don’t deserve that, and you have every right to be angry.” He leaned against the assassin, and when Artemis didn’t push him away, he kept talking, the sensible part of his brain screaming at him to stop, “I don’t… I don’t want you to hate me, Artemis. I don’t want to lose you.”

“Shut up,” the human tried to add some mirth to his voice but it didn’t ring true. “Here, drink this,” he held up a small vial, only half-full of a dark substance, slightly thicker than water.

The ranger took the vial and held it to his nose; it was sour smelling and medicinal, Drizzt felt his head ache at the scent. “This is poison,” he grumbled, almost throwing the vial away.

“Only in large doses,” the human conceded, “in small increments it’s been used to help people sleep all over Calimport. It’s been known to cause vivid dreams and hallucinations, but I think you’ll be alright. Just drink it.” When Drizzt hesitated he added a soft, “trust me,” whispered in a dark, sharply pointed ear.

Drizzt hesitated a bit more. He was exhausted, and another night without sleep might cause a more permanent detriment to his health, but could he trust Artemis enough for this? Was the liquid in that vial really what he claimed it to be? Drizzt couldn’t think of many reasons Artemis would have to kill him, but was running out of reasons for the assassin to help him as well. The drink could kill him, perhaps painfully, and he would have consumed it willingly and no one would be any the wiser until morning came and the assassin was long gone, having achieved the victory he’d always-

A gentle hand ran through his hair, a soft kiss warmed his neck, and another soft, “Trust me,” rumbled in his ear along with, “you’ll die at the rate you’re going.” A strong, steadying arm wrapped itself around Drizzt’s frame, and the ranger felt so small.

He brought the vial to his lips and drank the sour liquid. “If I die,” he said around a cough as his throat rebelled against him, “I will haunt you.”

Artemis laughed, collecting his vial and easing Drizzt from the bed, encouraging him to undress before the potion took hold. The ranger managed to get out of his armor and boots before the weight of his limbs pulled him onto the bed once more. The aching throb in his head had been replaced with dark, sloshing water. He felt nauseous.

“It takes a while to kick in,” Artemis’s voice said from far away.

Drizzt’s world darkened; the subtle deep blues of night replaced with bright reds and oranges. He smelled smoke from far off, and when he tried to rise to see it a weight on his arms held him down. He blinked, trying to focus.

Grass brushed against his cheek and the smell of pine blended with smoke. The bright splotches in front of his eyes cleared to show a forest canopy backlit by an angry blaze. The distant sound of stampeding, panicked animals worried him and tore his heart in two. He tried to rise, to do something, the forest was on fire and killed him. He craned his neck, trying to see what was holding him down, but only caught a glimpse of white strands around his wrist before a tight band choked him. He thrashed a bit, testing the bonds, but to no avail; for a moment he thought that he was becoming more stuck the more he struggled.

A dark laugh in his ear stilled him; otherworldly, a chaotic mash up of noise haphazardly cobbled into the basic timbre of a feminine laugh. Drizzt looked about for the source of the laugh, but saw nothing close. A black shadow among the dark patches in the tree caught his vision. It grew larger and sharper, drawing in close, eight legs waving menacingly as it approached him.

A chill ran in his blood, violet eyes locked on the specter of his doom.


	4. Damnable Magic

They were waiting, one leaning casually against the desk which was really no more than a table, the other sitting in his chair; vacant white eyes and expressionless faces trained on him. Tentacles waved in thoughtful patterns, foots tapped impatiently.

“Something the matter?” Kimmuirel asked, unsure how to approach this. He’d held up his end of the bargain with the mind flayers, offering comfortable living conditions and an appropriate food supply, and yet something was wrong.

The illithid leaning against the desk took a step forward, voice chilling and clear in Kimmuriel’s thoughts, _You know what the Xorlarrins are doing to maintain secrecy in the mine._

The Oblodra hesitated, shifting his weight from foot to foot, “Something has happened,” he said, “Ravel has stepped out of bounds.”

_This was before Ravel,_ the creature explained _Tiago Baenre committed a similar act of idiocy. They use the primordial’s weakening prison to scare the humans topside. They will bring down the ruin on all of our heads if they continue this way._

The psionicist held out his hands, “I shall speak to them and let them know that this behavior will not be tolerated.”

_And I would let you know, that if anything happens to this ruin before Oryndoll can add it to the records, because of the stupidity of your kin, you will be held personally accountable for all knowledge lost._

A cold knot formed in the drow’s stomach, but he kept it in check, “Nothing will happen to Gauntlgrym because of the drow.” He clasped his hands together, “I would like to discuss another matter while you are both here. The information on the Sundering, I need it in short order. Do you have anything I can go on?”

The creature in Kimmuriel’s chair at his makeshift desk rose as if to speak, but the other stayed him with a raised hand, _Get the Xorlarrins in line and we will tell you what you need to know._

The drow bowed, conceding. “As you wish, I will return shortly.”

_See that you do._

-0-0-0-0-0-

Drizzt woke with a start. He sat bolt upright, cold sweat plastering the linen sheets to his skin. He immediately regretted the motion, dizzy and lightheaded. Collapsing back against the pillows with a groan, he tried to remember the events of the night before. They made it to Longsaddle, got a room at the inn, and…

He was drawing a blank.

The ranger groaned again, rubbing his aching forehead and trying to clear his thoughts. Something cold pressed against his cheek and he started again. Artemis was standing over him, offering him something. “Drink this,” the human said, “Sit up slowly this time.”

Drizzt complied, taking the cup and eyeing it warily. “What is it?”

Rolling his eyes, the assassin scoffed, “It’s water, genius, drink it.”

Again, Drizzt complied, not realizing how dry his throat was until the cool water soothed the burn snaking all the way up to his ears. He coughed, returning the cup to Artemis who simply refilled it and handed it back.

“You need to stay hydrated,” the human explained, “it takes that stuff a while to fully work its way out of your system. You’ll probably be a little dizzy and shouldn’t get into any fights today.”

That didn’t sit too well with Drizzt. The ranger downed another cup and a half before asking, “What happened last night?” his voice was hoarse and sounded unnatural in his own ears. “I can’t remember.”

Artemis sat on the bed beside Drizzt, “Well,” he said, doing nothing to hide the slight twang of annoyance in his voice, “you lied to me about your state of mind the last few days, and came clean about it last night. You confessed to not sleeping for almost a week and said some pretty… desperate things. You gave apologies for your, admittedly awful behavior, and I poisoned you.”

Drizzt spat a mouthful of water, “What?” he shouted, “You did what? You could have -” A dark eyebrow rose and mocking smirk tugged at the corner of the assassin’s mouth.  “That was revenge, wasn’t it?” Drizzt sighed, hanging his head.

The human just laughed.

“Okay,” the drow held out his hands helplessly, “you win, I deserved that. Can we move on now, please, or are we going to go back and forth like this until we destroy each other?”

Artemis made a face. “We can try,” he said with a slight nod, “I’m still here aren’t I?”

The drow chewed his lip, nervous and unsure how to respond. Artemis had been so angry with him for days, Drizzt was almost sure what strange thing they’d had between them was falling apart, and yet, Artemis hadn’t left. The human had very limited reason to stay and if he had been so unsettled by Drizzt’s near attempt on his life he could have just stolen off into the night and been done.

He fought the urge to throw himself at the assassin in relief, instead just offering a gentle squeeze to the man’s arm. “Thank you.”

“Don’t get too used to it” Artemis replied, clapping his companion on the shoulder, “Now, come on. We’ve got to go meet those friends of yours today.”

-0-0-0-0-0-

The Harpell home was almost exactly as Drizzt remembered it, though perhaps with a few more guards and worn-down stones. A hum of energy disrupted the air as the six companions drew close and were stopped just shy of the walls by a pair of armed guards. “State your name and your business here.”

“I am Drizzt Do’Urden,” the ranger said, praying his name still held some weight here after so many years, “I am friend of this family. My allies and I seek the advice of the Harpells.”

The guards looked at each other briefly before telling the dark elf to stay put as one went inside to check with whoever was running the show. Artemis chuckled quietly in the guard’s absence, “Quite a bit of muscle for a residence.”

“They have many unorthodox items and spells stored here,” Drizzt explained over his shoulder, “a store that has probably increased dramatically since I was last here. May the gods help us if they should fall into the wrong hands.”

“What kind of magic are we talking about here?” Effron chimed in.

Drizzt chuckled softly, “If I told you, you would not believe me.”

“Try me,” Effron grinned.

The drow pondered for a moment, “The patriarch of the family once teleported an entire ship and its crew from the Sea of Swords to just outside the Snowflake Mountains after ‘accidentally’ teleporting himself out to sea, if I remember right. It was, admittedly a small ship, but it’s no small testament to the magic that is harnessed here.”

Effron tried to hide his grin, obviously interested. Artemis made a strange noise beside him. When Drizzt turned, the assassin looked a little paler than normal, the muscles in his jaw tense, ready to bolt.

“It’s fine,” Drizzt whispered to him, “they’re friendly. Or… they used to be.”

“I can just wait at the-“ Before Artemis could properly articulate his plan to leave the group to their mages and avoid the dangerous magic altogether, the door to the Harpell home opened.

A man, spry despite his old age and small stature came down the front steps. His grey hair, cropped short and thinning significantly still managed to stick out in all directions even though there was an obvious effort being made to stop that. He leaned heavily against a sturdy cane, almost consumed by the volume of his worn robes. The old man’s bright, clear eyes glittered with an excitement and joy unbefitting a man so on in years; he cracked a wide, toothy smile at the sight of the drow. “Drizzt,” he cried, “My friend, it has been ages!”

“Harkle?” Drizzt nearly fell over in disbelief, “You’re still alive? After all these years? You must be ancient!” The ranger dashed up and gave the aged wizard a gentle hug, “I never expected to see you again. How are you?”

“Never better,” Harkle laughed, “Well, perhaps that is not _entirely_ true, but I am better than I could be and not as bad as most. Please, come inside, bring your-“ He paused, studying the group Drizzt had brought with him, “You’re very strange new group of friends. You must introduce me to them.”

The group came inside, Drizzt acting the part of mutual friend and introducing his companions to the mage. Harkle enthusiastically greeted every one of them, sharing a laugh with Athrograte, arguing clerical versus arcane magic with Ambergris, offering Afafrenfere a bow, and Effron a hearty handshake. When he arrived at Artemis, the mage nearly clapped the assassin on the shoulder, but Entreri took a threatening step backward and Drizzt had to step between them.

“He’s had a pretty bad history with magic,” Drizzt explained.

Harkle made a disappointed face, “I apologize,” he offered the man, and Entreri only gave a curt nod in response.

The mage led them through the house. As they wandered, Drizzt informed Harkle of the purpose of their visit, and the Harpell was more than happy to oblige them, agreeing with Effron’s earth elemental suggestion. He began to explain the process when a sudden shout cut him off.

“What in the Nine Hells is that thing?” Ambergris jumped back beside Athrogate, scowling at something just beyond the hall. The rest of the group assembled to look at the life sized statue of a horse with the hind legs of a frog.

“Oh that,” Harkle chuckled, “That is Puddlejumper.” He took Drizzt by the arm and shook him gently, “You remember the siege of the dwarven hall, when he was ridden triumphantly into battle.” Drizzt thought for a moment and then shared in the mage’s laughter.

“That is a real creature?” Afafrenfere asked, confused.

“Was,” Harkle corrected, “We had him stuffed when he died to commemorate the achievement.”

“Ye had this thing stuffed too?” Athrogate grumbled, gesturing to a tall, shimmering silver werewolf statue.

“That was immensely difficult to accomplish, but yes.” Harkle replied.

Drizzt’s eye widened, appalled, “You _stuffed_ Bidderdoo?”

“He was aware of the arrangement,” Harkle argued. He waved his cane about conducting the group back on their path down the hallway.

Artemis pulled Drizzt aside, “Why do I get the feeling that this ‘Bidderdoo’ wasn’t some evil creature they happened to want to stuff?”

“He was a cousin.”

The assassin’s face grew tight, “ _He stuffed his cousin?_ After they turned him into a werewolf? These people are insane.”

“No, they didn’t turn Bidderdoo into a werewolf, he did that to himself,” Drizzt argued, “I think. They turned him into a dog and eventually turned him back.”

“ _That isn’t better.”_

Harkle led them to a large circular chamber, an intricate summoning circle etched into the floor and several heavy books scattered across low lying tables. The six companions gathered on one side of the circle, Harkle on the other. “Forgive me,” the mage said, stretching a bit and cracking his joints, “I’m a bit rusty in the summoning department; this may take a few tries.”

“We don’t have all day, sparklepants,” Ambergris snorted.

The mage blinked at her, “I don’t understand why. Do you not intend to stay?” He smiled brightly, “You are more than welcome to sleep in the guest rooms. I shall have the housekeeper arrange it.”

Artemis coughed uncomfortably.

“What of the rest of your family?” Drizzt asked as the old man gathered his supplies, “Is there a new generation of Harpells we should know about.”

“None worth meeting,” Harkle said with a roll of his eyes, “It seems my family has lost their love for the craft since the Spellplague. I’m not surprised, but I’m not pleased about it either.” Something exploded in another part of the house and Harkle laughed loudly, “Doesn’t mean I can’t try to spark some interest though.”

Artemis coughed again, a few steps closer to Drizzt than he had been moments ago. “I’m going back to the inn,” he hissed, but the ranger caught him by the wrist and held him in place.

Another crack of his joints and Harkle set to work. Magic crackled and laced the air drawing into the center of the circle and swirling into opacity. A portal opened. A large burst of fire exploded from the portal, sailing to the ceiling and sinking back down the way it came. With a wave of his arm Harkle closed the magical opening. “Whoops.” Another explosion sounded in the distance.

A vice-like grip threatened to snap Drizzt’s hand in half. When he turned, Artemis was staring at the circle, breathing slowly though his nose, hiding how shaken he was. “Next time you say you know mages please be sure to let us know if they are insane first,” the assassin hissed at him.

“Harkle’s… eccentric, but he knows what he’s doing, Artemis, I swear.”

“You swear to a lot of things that aren’t true.”

Another burst of magic came from the circle after a short ritual from the mage before he could close the portal again, “Damn,” he breathed, “I blame the plane shifting.”

Drizzt looked around at his group; Artemis was still trying to hide his unease and being successful outside of the tight grip on Drizzt’s hand hidden behind their cloaks. Afafrenfere and the dwarves had taken a few steps back behind the entranced Effron, who stood almost dangerously close grinning widely and taking it all in. Ambergris eyed the circle out of the corner of her eye ready for something to spring forth and attack.

Effron spoke up, “Perhaps it doesn’t need to be an elemental.” He moved to Harkle’s side of the circle. “Just something that knows earth better than anything.” The two magic users mused for a moment exchanging ideas before the younger suggested, “Are pech common in Faerun? We could consult one of them.”

Harkle shook the young warlock by his good shoulder, “Yes, marvelous idea and much less likely to kill us.”

The afternoon had grown into late evening by the time the two magic users managed to track down their target. The small creature, one with the earth around it was alarmed by the sudden upheaval of its home. It shouted angrily, and took no small amount of convincing that they didn’t mean to harm it, ultimately settling to speak with the dwarves or “the only ones with any respect for the earth” as the pech had phrased it. They asked their questions and received a confused tilt of the head in return. “I know of these quakes,” it said thoughtfully, “they are unnatural and cause great damage. The fire-being is not kind to the stone. I preferred it when it slept. Curse the elfin creature that awakened it.”

Effron perked up, “The drow are keeping it awake?” but the pech did not respond to him.

The dwarves relayed the question. The small creature shook its head, “Not dark, sandy skinned. I know not what keeps it awake now, I dare not get close.” It looked to the casters, “May I return now? All this air…”

A round of nods from the group and Harkle dismissed it.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Benny was tapping his foot impatiently on the other side of her door when Dahlia finally decided to open it. “Come with me,” he said, gesturing for the elf to follow.

She eyed him, wary, and fell into step behind him.

The halfling led her down a flight of stairs and a short ladder, to another hallway lined with doors. The walls and floors were better kept than they had been on Dahlia’s original hall. “I’m gonna give you Esther’s old room. Ya’ve earned it, girlie. You’re on the fast track to full time membership.” He unlocked a door at the fall end of the hall, handing Dahlia the key once the door was opened, “Everything that’s in here is now yours. Including her open jobs. Get to work.”

The room was spacious, well, if eclectically, furnished. Rolls of parchment lay open and ordered on a table near the door, detailing missions, targets, prices, and employers. The bed was freshly made, untouched since the last time it was slept in. Dahlia skimmed some of the commissions Esther had left to do. She’d been a busy woman, but never did anything too complicated. No wonder she had managed to advance.

Dahlia leaned her staff against the wall and collapsed on the bed. It smelled of sawdust and dirt, and she cringed. “It’s a long way up,” she told herself.

But it was progress.

Another knock sounded on the door. “Word from the boss,” Benny called through the crack between the door and the frame. “He wants to meet you in a few days. Provided you stay on top’a things. Don’t disappoint.”

The elf smiled.

Perfect.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Drizzt collapsed on the bed, exhausted and feeling like he had weights on his wrists and ankles. Artemis had run off with the dwarves to abuse Harkle’s hospitality and raid his liquor cabinet and the drow had a moment to himself in the lavishly spacious guest room. It was the nicest place they’d been in since they stopped off in Mithril Hall all those months ago.

The ranger let his thoughts wander a little. He mused about his sleepless episodes. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for him to be unable to relax when idle and not working himself into exhaustion. Jarlaxle had mentioned that his father had been the same way, and something about music being helpful… perhaps it would be worth looking into. Particularly if it was so radically effecting his health.

Drizzt kicked himself mentally, remembering the arguments he’d had with Artemis on the subject and feeling  like a heel for lying to him. Artemis hadn’t deserved that treatment, the accusations, the irate comments. “Way to go, Drizzt,” the ranger sighed to himself, running a hand over his face. “I’ve got to make it up to him,” he said, sitting up. “I have no idea how. He’d probably punch me if I pulled some romantic gesture.”

_Like you’d even be able to pull off one even if he wouldn’t_.

Drizzt froze for a moment, his brow lowering in confusion. That was strange, his thoughts had never been so clear when they branched off into contrary ideas. It was crisp and loud, almost as if someone sitting behind his shoulder spoke to him in his own voice. He resisted the foolish urge to turn and look to see if anyone was actually there.

The nervous jumbling of his thoughts was cut short as Artemis came into the room, leaning against the door as he closed it behind him, saluting Drizzt with his glass. The ranger rose to greet him, standing just on the outside of a comfortable space. The assassin smiled softly, taking a small sip.

“I see you’ve managed to calm yourself,” the drow laughed, appreciating the relaxation in the human’s stance. “I never imagined you’d be so skittish around magic.”

Artemis shushed him, “All men have their weaknesses,” he admitted. “The only ones in this realm truly without fear are the ones that do not feel at all.”

Drizzt tilted his head, “That was strangely poetic.”

The human raised his glass again, accepting the compliment. The ranger recognized the gold and amber liquid and chuckled softly. He took the glass from Artemis and took a small sip himself.

“You should be careful with that,” Entreri warned, “The poison’s still in your system.”

“I’ll take the chance,” Drizzt laughed, taking another, larger sip, draining half the glass.

“Hey-“Artemis tried to complain as the ranger took him by the shirt front and guided him to the bed with a tug. “Oh.” He polished off the liquor, setting the glass aside before Drizzt pushed him onto the plush blankets. The human pushed himself into a more comfortable position, letting the ranger slide in close and pin him where he stopped. Artemis raised a dark eyebrow, but didn’t protest.

The elf pressed a soft, gentle kiss to the pale skin of the human’s neck, just below the abrasive scratch of that persistent shadow that so stubbornly darkened his face, and then another, and another. Each kiss more fervent and open than the last. He heard the human’s breathing catch and speed up in reaction, his body shift to get closer, and Drizzt bit down. Encouraged by the barely stifled gasp, he nipped at the human again, harder, earning a soft moan for his efforts.

A slight tingle from the alcohol, and perhaps its foolhardy mixing with the poison still clinging to his blood, emboldened the ranger a bit. He retracted a dark hand from the human’s wrist, sliding it gently to unlace the collar of his soft, worn shirt. He bit at the newly exposed skin, gentle at first, alternating with each bite with a soft, placating kiss.

“Someone’s frisky,” Artemis laughed, as that mischievous dark hand pulled at the hem of his shirt, untucking the cloth and scratching nails down sensitive skin. Drizzt responded to the quip with a bruising bite and the assassin made a peculiar noise.

The drow pulled away, raising a white eyebrow, playful smirk splitting his face. “I haven’t heard that before,” he teased.

“I blame the alcohol,” a defensive tone.

Drizzt released the human’s other hand, leaning back and giving him an unbelieving look. They shared a smile and a less than sober laugh. The ranger bent back down when they settled, but not at the human’s neck. Instead, he offered a soft bite to the freshly exposed skin of his hip. His bedmate jumped at the turn. Without hesitation, the drow followed sharp line where dark leather met skin, offering gentle bites and warm, open kisses.

He got to the laces and tugged at the soft threads with his teeth, puffing hot breath against overly sensitive skin. A strong hand tangled in his hair.

A hasty knocking at the door cut the moment short. The ranger pressed his forehead to the assassin’s stomach and the two men shared a frustrated noise. Who would bother them at this hour? Honestly. Another knock and they knew the interloper wasn’t about to leave. They rose, straightened themselves out, and went to the door. Afafrenfere stood, poised to knock again, looking nervous and a little confused.

“You have to come see this.”

The two men cast curious, somewhat annoyed looks at each other, shrugged, and followed the monk into the library.

“You aren’t going to believe this,” Effron said, holding up a book and shaking it so lose pages fell to the floor. The young warlock came around the table he’d been standing at opening the book against his hip as he passed, “I was going through some of Master Harpell’s books, seeing if I could find anything on this Sundering thing Draygo has been so concerned about, and look.” He held up the book for them to see.

“It’s blank,” Entrreri deadpanned, “So?”

“’So?’” Effron snorted, “This book and all these other books,” he nodded his horned head toward the scattered tomes. Ambergris made an appearance at one of the bookshelves, casting a slightly worried glance to Athrogate who seemed to understand the situation less than Drizzt and Artemis, “used to be filled to bursting with prophecies. Predictions based on, star signs, oracles, the Weave, you name it there was probably a prophecy found in it. Now, all of the books are empty.”

That was alarming.

“Do you know when this happened?” Drizzt asked.

Effron shrugged his uneven shoulders, “Master Harpell said the books were full a few days ago.”

As if on cue, Harkle burst in the room, “I got word back from Silverymoon,” he said, slightly breathless, “Their books are empty too. I’m still waiting with word from Candlekeep, but that may take a day or so.” Effron made a nervous noise, but Harkle calmed him with a raised hand. “Now, young master, do not fret too much. These are only words on pages.”

“But all the words,” Ambergris argued, shaking a book of her own, “On all the pages? And in more than one city. How is that not cause for alarm?”

“What does this mean?” Artemis asked, “That the future is unwritten? Unpredictable? Welcome to the world of the normal, we’ve been dealing with that for ages.”

Effron sighed, frustrated, “Prophecies serve a purpose, Artemis. They guide those that need guidance, they bring heroes to glory, they allow those future heroes access to the materials they need and the places they need to go to ensure the coming of change. Without these prophecies the world becomes even more chaotic than it already is. There are no guidelines, no tasks to be fulfilled; it just becomes a free for all.”

Artemis shook his head, unconcerned with the information. “I’m going back to bed,” he sighed, turning on his heel.

“Effron,” Drizzt asked, “Is there a possibility that this might be part of the Sundering?”

“I think so,” the warlock said, “I never got a real look at Draygo’s translation of the old prophecy. At least not long enough to gain anything useful. I thought I’d be able to find it here, but” he shook the blank book in his hand.

Drizzt put a comforting hand on his shoulder. The excitement was dying down, and the exhausted weight returned to his limbs, “It’ll be okay, Effron, I know it will.” He gave the young warlock a soft pat, before turning to join Artemis.

“If it’s not,” Effron said to the space Drizzt left behind, “we’ll never see it coming.”


	5. Observations

The assassin woke slowly, surprised at the early hour given the copious amounts of alcohol and late hour of the night before, and the sleepless night before that. With a frustrated sigh, he ran a hand over his face, scratching at the insubordinate stubble on his jaw. He’d have to shave soon or he’d end up with a beard to manage.

Soft, slow breathing beside him, allowed Artemis a moment of peace and quiet for the first time in days and he relished it; no biting comments, no frazzled nerves, no looking over his shoulder and lying to people about what he saw. Only silence, calm, and a warm bed.

The chill in the air was alarming. Summer had brought with it heat wave after heat wave and to find the air around him suddenly so cold called back memories about why he hated the North to begin with. One of these days he’d get to go home and stay there.

He sighed again into the near-darkness, careful not to disturb his sleeping bedmate. The human turned onto his side, propping himself up onto his elbow to get a better look at the ranger beside him. He seemed calm; his breathing steady and even, his body still, no tension or lines in his dark face. Artemis felt himself relax a bit and his eye became less harsh, picking up on finer details; the splay of snowy white hair against the pillows, or that of eyelashes on sharp cheekbones. There was a slight twitch in the drow’s ear and Artemis fought to suppress a laugh, he’d seen Drizzt move his ears purposefully before on a drunken dare from Afafrenfere but there was something hilariously precious about seeing them move involuntarily.

Another endearing detail about the ranger was the color of his skin, the human had noticed, under the harsh light of the sun it took on rich brown instead of the normal slate grey drow like Jarlaxle had; a sign of decades spent in the sunshine. Pinpoints fighting the cold erupted on the elf’s skin, blankets slung too low on his hip to offer any protection even from the assassin’s wandering eye.

He couldn’t fight the soft laugh this time, tugging the blankets up higher about the elf, lest he wake up early from the cold. Artemis fell back against his pillow, replaying through what he could remember of the night. He really shouldn’t have gone drinking with the dwarves.

Entreri was just beginning to muse about the prophecies disappearing and what it would mean for the worrisome magic users when Drizzt awoke with a start; not quite the start of the day before, but it wasn’t subtle. “Did you hear that?” the ranger whispered sleepily, turning his head and listening hard.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Artemis replied, raising a wary eyebrow.

“I must have dreamt it then,” the ranger sighed settling back down into his pillow, rolling over to face the human.

“What did you hear?” he asked, lifting his arm and gesturing for Drizzt to come closer. The elf gave him a curious look and Artemis had to scowl at him, “The offer’s on a time limit, take it or leave it.”

Drizzt scooted closer and rested his head on the assassin’s chest, shifting to accommodate the arm rested across his shoulders, “It sounded like…” he paused, “like Harkle blew something up. I must have imagined it.”

Artemis ground his teeth. He knew Drizzt was lying by the shaky tone of his voice, but couldn’t place why he would lie about a noise he’d heard in dream. What purpose would that serve? What in the realms could he be trying to hide? Voices in his head?

Was this worse than simple insomnia?

He was pulled from his thoughts by a light puff of air against his collar, “Is it cold in here? How is it cold? It’s summer.” The ranger complained.

The assassin gave him a gentle squeeze, and heard a soft, slightly muffled, appreciative noise.

“Are we okay?” Drizzt asked softly after several moments. “I know… I haven’t quite been myself lately.”

“That’s what happens when you don’t sleep,” Artemis chided, “You get crazy and push people away. You have to be careful about that.”

The ranger tugged at a small patch of hair on the human’s chest, eliciting a wince, “I didn’t choose to lie awake at night, you ass.”

The two men shared a laugh for the first time in several days. It was soothing; a respite from the tension and the anger, just a simple moment without the weight of the world dragging them into the depths for a change. It was temporary, they both knew, but it was enough.

Without thinking, Artemis tightened his arm around the elf’s shoulders, pressing a gentle kiss to the sleep-warmed skin of his brow. He felt the slight frame against him flinch, but stay close, nervous and hesitating, wanting something he couldn’t quite articulate. A smirk tugged at the corner of Entreri’s mouth, drawing out the moment and forcing the drow to participate. A gentle hand snaked up to his cheek and pulled him in for a slow kiss.

That was more like it.

The gesture escalated quickly. Soft, gentle kisses became hot and fervent and reluctant to break, fueled by an extended time without and the sudden break in the tension between them. When the air cleared and they broke for breath, Drizzt was pinned to the sheets, clutching the human close. Encouraged by the harsh, needy panting in his ear, the assassin sank his teeth into soft, dark skin, smiling at the wanton moan that responded. He pressed in close, and the ranger didn’t stop him.

Sunrise had come and gone by the time they fell apart, seeking refuge from overpowering body heat in the crisp morning air. Drizzt made a soft noise, waves of pressure and warmth still rolling through the muscles of his abdomen and legs; he could feel Entreri’s smug satisfaction beside him, but couldn’t be bothered to knock him down a peg.

Entreri sat up beside him. “We should get dressed,” he said, stretching, “the dwarves have probably used Effron and Afafrenfere to scout out food. We need to get a move on before they eat everything.”

Drizzt laughed, unsure if he would be able to move. More than a little willpower and a few failed attempts, and the ranger was up and dressing alongside the human. He stopped off at the water basin, trying to rinse the last remnants of sleep from his eyes. He felt like himself again, better in fact.

He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the small, silver mirror above the basin. What he thought was a bright smile looked more like an evil smirk. Drizzt’s heart thudded in his chest as he stared at his reflection, feeling the muscles in his face relax in shock, but the image in the mirror didn’t change.

On the edges of his hearing, Drizzt could have sworn he heard laughter.

“Drizzt? Drizzt!”

The sharp bark of the assassin’s voice so close to him jolted the ranger back into reality. He shook the last echoes of laughter from his head and pulled himself together.

“What’s wrong? You don’t look so good.”

“I just…” Drizzt took several deep breaths, “I just got really dizzy there for a second. I think I’m still getting over that poisoning you gave me.”

“That should have worked its way out of your system by now,” Artemis said, accusatory lilt to his voice, “What is it? Honestly.”

“A dizzy spell,” Drizzt replied, giving the human an attempt at a convincing smile, but the scowl that creased Entreri’s brow told the ranger that he was far from convinced, “I’m fine, Artemis, really. You don’t need to worry yourself.”

He relaxed a bit, heading for the door, but didn’t say anything more to the drow until they happened upon their companions and began discussing the next step in their mission.

-0-0-0-0-0-

She’d been running around town all day, and, frankly, she was sick of it. All this roughing up of thugs and petty thieves was beneath her. Dahlia didn’t stop though, determined to find a seat of power. She had managed to become a champion in Thay, why couldn’t she do so here?

The elf set her jaw as she rifled through the list of remaining targets, only to see that she didn’t have any and it was barely afternoon. With a sigh, she turned on her heel and stalked back the way she’d come.

Dahlia walked unmolested for several streets before she realized that several of the footsteps behind her were consistent; six footfalls, all heavy and loud; three large beings, probably men, in heavy boots. The elf slowed her gait, letting her pursuers catch up with her.

“ ‘ey! You.” A deep, hoarse voice called behind her. “We know who you are.”

Dahlia rolled her eye, “Really?” she groaned, “For some reason I doubt that.” She turned, three burly strangers closed in on her, armed with only gloved fists and wearing mismatched pieces of leather armor. She was growing tired of this song and dance. A twirling flourish and she broke her staff in two, snapping the pole in her right hand into a flail.

She’d been training with new strategies, unable to rely on old techniques with the loss of her left eye, but was still having trouble compensating, having to fall back on the stupidity and hubris of her opponents to get by. This little scuffle was no exception.

They rushed her, barreling apes of men, and it was almost funny how easy their attacks were to dodge. She landed a few superficial blows with her flail and prodding them with her staff. They stumbled and struggled to keep up with her as she danced in circles and spirals, ducking beneath swinging fists and occasionally dropping to a taunting cartwheel out of the way. As the fight dragged on, Dahlia threw in more flare, springing off the shoulder of one lumbering brute, to kick out and slam her heel into the face of another.

It didn’t take long for Dahlia to grow bored with the fight and the crowd that had collected around them. Too exposed to kill, the elf dropped into a bow, activating the magic of her cloak as she straightened and taking flight as a raven just as the three thugs closed in on the spot she vacated, colliding with each other and landing in a tangled heap in the middle of the street. The crowd broke out in applause and laughter at the expense of the thugs, only to be scared away by bared teeth and raised fists moments later.

She landed on the roof of her the safe house, dismissing the enchantment and falling back to lay on the sun-warmed shingles. “I grow bored,” she shouted at the heavens, as if they would somehow appease her. At least with Drizzt Do’Urden and his merry band of idiots she’d had something to do. Even if it was saving people who didn’t deserve it, or running off to chase ghosts in some barren hellhole of a place. She missed the adventure, even if the thought of the people she’d once adventured with made her sick to her stomach. Even Sylora offered her some sense of purpose and adventure beyond punching things and dodging grunts in the street.

“Girlie!” Benny’s annoying voice called up to her, “Hey!”

Dahlia wanted to hurl her staff down at him like a javelin, but resisted the urge, “What?”

“Got yer pay,” he shouted, “Go get yourself something nice to wear! Guildmaster wants to see you tomorrow, congratulate you on a job well done.”

Dahlia snorted, not particularly interested in a meeting with the guildmaster, but the prospect of not having to wait spoke to her. A bit of magic, and she was lighting down from the roof as a raven, collecting the bag of coins from Benny’s hand in her talons and lifting off into the city.

“Well damn,” Benny called after her, “If I’d’ve known you could do that I probably would have made you run messages too.”

-0-0-0-0-0-

“What do you think you’re doing?” Kimmuriel hissed as he shut the door, finally managing a moment alone with the Xorlarrin, “Abusing the primordial’s power, are you trying to get everyone killed?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ravel snapped back only to receive a sharp backhand across the face.

“Don’t play stupid with me, secondboy,” the psionicist snarled, “I know what you’re doing. You are placing so many investments in danger with your stupidity I could kill you right now and I doubt anyone would blame me.”

“You seem edgy,” Ravel growled, “Someone spit in your tea?”

“Listen to me,” Kimmuriel said, visibly calming, “There is a lot more at stake here than a few weapons, and little outpost. Your matron has proposed a sister city, a proposal she stated was from you. If you mess this up, if you destroy this complex either on purpose or on accident, I will personally end you, and then Matron Quenthel will do to your house what Matron Yvonnel did to mine, do you understand me?”

The spellspinner blanched, “I understand,” he said slowly, “that you have someone breathing down your neck. And that, is not my problem.”

“Then I will _make_ _it_ your problem,” Kimmuriel replied, his voice even. With that, he turned about and slunk out the door. He heard Ravel sigh, and felt the anxiety in his thoughts. The spellspinner talked a big game, but he was really just a secondboy from low ranking house that was in over his head. Easy fodder for manipulation.

“Trouble in paradise?” A familiar voice sang beside him, “Leadership isn’t all it’s cracked up to be is it?”

“Jarlaxle,” Kimmuriel sighed, resisting the urge to run a frustrated hand over his face, “come to beg for your guild back?”

“You seem frazzled, old friend,” The mercenary smiled widely laying a hand on the Oblodra’s shoulder, smiling all the wider when Kimmuriel glared at the offensive contact, “the burden of responsibility is not one you can so easily bear.”

Kimmuriel pulled away from him, “I’ve done more in the last few months for the Bregan D’aerthe than you have in _decades_. We’ve stopped hemorrhaging coin to fund your stupid little misadventures with the surfacers, and are starting to break even for once.”

“You’re also losing men,” Jarlaxle added smugly.

“Minor casualties, at best,” Kimmuriel snorted, “if anything it is fewer people to support.”

Jarlaxle’s smile did not falter, “You still sound so unnerved. I’ve always said that you were meant to sit at a desk not a position of power. I give you this opportunity to hand the guild back to me, without repercussion, and you can go back to your illithids and your books, yeah?”

Kimmuriel chuckled, folding his arms across his chest, “No sale, Jarlaxle. You will run this guild into the ground, I cannot let you have it.”

The mercenary sighed through his nose, “Fine,” he snipped, “Keep it for now. I’ll take it back by force if I must, instead… give me Tiago Baenre. I know he’s still in the area, where is he?”

“And what do I get?”

Jarlaxle leaned in close, their noses almost touching, ruby eyepatch catching the light of nearby torches, his smile was painfully wide “I’ll stop killing your lieutenants.”

-0-0-0-0-0-

“The Oblodra has spoken with the stupid one,” Tel’Kashir announced as he entered their shared private chamber. It was a closed space, smaller than the dormitories in Oryndoll, and almost uncomfortably close, but it was close enough to observe and hidden enough to not be bothered, so the two mind flayers couldn’t exactly complain with the arrangement. Not that it stopped them.

“I am surprised you did not let me speak to the drow, this would have happened sooner,” Razlaould replied, not turning to face his partner.

There was a short pause.

“Might I ask what you are doing?”

Razlaould raised his tentacled head, noticing the other illithid standing at his side, bulbous head tilted curiously at the bowl of ice crystals and water surrounding Razlaould’s hand. “No,” Razlaould replied with a light scoff, “for the answer is obvious, and I have not the time to answer stupid questions.”

Tel’kashir made an angry noise, dipping his own hand into the ice and taking Razlaould by the wrist. A short, jagged bolt of grey marred the splotchy purple skin around his knuckles. Without asking permission, the illithid flipped his fellow’s hand over, examining the injury closely.

A jagged black rent dented the center of his palm, spreading out in a grey and white spider web of burn scars across all four of his fingers and up his wrist a short way, “This injury is old,” he noted, “it still bothers you?”

“Occasionally,” the other replied, snatching his hand away and submerging it in the ice water once more, “I have been to many clerics of many gods, taken knowledge from druids, and other healers, none have taken.”

Tel’Kashir made a surprised noise, “How does one acquire an injury so severe?”

“That does not concern you,” Razlaould returned to his reading, “Jarlaxle Baenre is in the complex, do you think that spells trouble for our drow?”

Tel’kashir did not respond immediately, choosing instead to study his partner for a moment, “I know it does,” the other sat on a small outcropping of stone, “just how much we cannot be certain.”

“And the primordial has been dealt with?” Razlould asked, more in general than to his companion, “I have a feeling that is untrue.”

“We will have to wait and see.”

Razlaould shifted in his chair, “I suppose we will.” He eyed the blank piece of parchment sitting in his book. He traced the words that once rested on the page, trying to sense magic on the crisp plane and finding none.

-0-0-0-0-0-

“Are you really leaving so soon?” Harkle asked, walking with the group as they headed out into the world, “I have more I can show you, I-“

“Harkle, old friend,” Drizzt smiled softly, “We appreciate your hospitality immensely, but we must continue our quest, and that is in Neverwinter.”

The old wizard nodded begrudging acceptance, “Well, if you need anything, you know where to find me. And you must return soon and see what we’ve done with the Tower.”

The drow laughed, pulling Harkle into a gentle hug just as he had the previous day, “It shall be so, my friend, I promise.” They shared a brief laugh before separating again, Drizzt jogging to catch up with his companions, Harkle standing in the doorway watching them go like a proud parent.

“I’m glad to be outta that place,” Athrogate said with a shudder, “Gave me the willies just bein’ in there what with all the exploding.”

Ambergris gave him a playful punch in the arm, “ ‘The willies’ eh?” she waggled her fingers in mock spellcraft, “Perhaps I should take up wizard magic.”

“Ye wouldn’t dare.”

Effron made a curious face, “I don’t know what you people are talking about, I liked it there. Master Harpell had so much he could have taught us.”

“Could have taught _you_ ,” Afafrenfere corrected. “And hey, once this is all said and done maybe you can do an apprenticeship there.”

“If it’s still standing,” the warlock scoffed.

“What does that mean?” Artemis scowled, not liking the tone Effron had taken.

“The Sundering is coming, and no one knows what it is, other than it will be something like the Time of Troubles or the Spellplague. Magic will be rewritten again, and places like that,” the warlock pointed at the worn down Harpell house over his shoulder, “run on magic. It may have survived the Spellplague, but I don’t know if it can survive another blow like that.”

“Harkle is determined,” Drizzt chimed in, taking his place beside Artemis. “His home will not fall until he is dead and buried.”

_That could be a very real possibility_.

Without thinking, Drizzt whirled around, expecting to see something behind them. Instead all he saw was the closing door to the Harpell home.

“What is it?” Artemis asked.

“I thought I heard something,” he narrowed his eyes, scanning the area and coming up empty. “I guess I’m just being jumpy.”

Artemis made a noise, unconvinced, but Drizzt didn’t give him any thought, trotting up to the rest of the group, hashing out the best route to secretly enter Neverwinter.

The assassin watched the drow talk amongst his friends. Something was off here. There was tension in the ranger’s shoulders and neck, a nervous twitch to his eye. Something had spooked him, and he was trying to cover it up. Artemis spared a glance over his shoulder, scanning the area as Drizzt had done, nothing was there. What did you hear? He wondered, footsteps? An animal’s call?

Words?


	6. Guildmaster Conrad

She was awakened just before sunrise to an obnoxious pounding on her door. The halfling quartermaster calling for “Girlie” to “wake up” and that she had to get a move on if she wanted to be on time for her first, and possibly only, meeting with the guildmaster. Dahlia slid out of bed grumbling that if she had been informed of the time of the meeting the day before this whole annoying affair would not have been necessary.

The elf was quick in getting dressed, but not hurried, forsaking her normal rough spun tunic and torn leggings for one of Esther’s silk shirts. It was too big for her, and hung more like a short dress on her slight frame, but it would have to do, she tied it off with some spare scraps of fabric and her normal belt to give the illusion that it actually fit. Her armor was scarce: a pair of gloves and light boots equipped with elbow, shin, and knee guards, but going into an unknown situation without any protection at all would be foolish. She adjusted her eyepatch, finally having one that fit properly, and brushed a hand through her short, bristly hair, stopping at the long braid at her right temple. Dahlia hesitated, considering taking a knife to the long, twisted lock of hair, but decided against it. She tossed the braid about her neck as one would a scarf, collected her cloak and staff, and set off with the quartermaster to meet this mysterious “Guildmaster Conrad” character.

The halfling led her down several winding hallways, past her old room in the dormitories, and down, deep into the depths of the building. Eventually they come to a small, heavy door. “Right through here,” Benny said with a flourish, “He’s eager to meet you.”

Dahlia ducked through the door. The room was wide with dark corners, furnished with a small table and a trio of chairs. Cushions and cabinets lined the walls. At its center sat a man, all slicked back hair and harsh, angular features, his dark clothes fitted to his slim frame. He raised his glass of wine to her as she entered, “You must be the new girl.” There must have been some elf in him, judging by the slight point of his ears and the lyrical lilt of his voice.

She nodded curtly, scanning the room as she approached.

“We’re alone here,” he said, gesturing for her to take a chair beside him, “I assure you. I’ve come to propose a promotion.”

Dahlia took the seat, but eyed the glass of wine he poured for her like he’d poured it out of a goblin skull. “A promotion?” she asked, when he was seated.

“Yes,” Conrad leaned back in his chair, “I have been monitoring your progress through Benny, and I like your enthusiasm.”

“It is not enthusiasm,” she grumbled, “I grow tired of the simple life of a street thug and the guild seems to be the only way to rise up in the world. Although, given the content of your missions, I’d say I was mistaken.”

Conrad raised a sleek eyebrow, “Oh?” A smile spread across his face, “Well, you don’t exactly look the type to be out in the street corralling the unkempt. No, you’re much too pretty for that. How would you like to be made lieutenant, to get out of this little dive for a while?”

Dahlia matched his expression, “I would like to know what being a lieutenant entails before I go agreeing to things.”

The guildmaster nodded, pursing his lips, “I see you’ve done this song and dance before.”

“I hail from Thay,” she said matter-of-factly.

Another arched eyebrow and curious expression, “Oh my. Yes, you are grossly over-qualified,” he laughed. “I propose that as lieutenant you be responsible for the gathering of information. Espionage, that sort of thing.”

“What makes you think I’m interested?” she leaned forward taking the glass of wine and swirling it as she mused, “Perhaps I don’t want to do spy work for you.”

“What do you want?” he asked, “Money? Men? Power?”

Dahlia sneered a bit, “You intend to offer me those things?”

“As you earn them.”

“What would my first mission be?” she inquired, bringing the glass to her nose.

He smiled widely again, “I would like you to go to Neverwinter and gather information on this event called the Sundering. I’ve heard mages whispering rather loudly about it and its having a focal point in the area of Neverwinter Wood. Apparently there is a Chosen there or something.”

The elf tried to hide her surprise; averting her gaze and setting her glass back down. “Oh,” she said, “Is that so?”

“What do you already know about the Sundering? If you hail from Thay, surely they must have been discussing it there.”

Dahlia closed her eyes, “I have not been to my home in a long time. I’ve spent the last few years adventuring along the Sword Coast with a group of people pretending to be heroes.” A sneer pulled at her upper lip, “And because of that I have no desire to go back to Neverwinter, or anywhere in the North for that matter. Not with those pathetic fools trying to rope me into their imaginary game of good and evil. Just the thought of it makes me sick.”

“If I give the order,” Conrad chuckled, leaning forward, “You won’t have a choice.”

“Get out of my face,” the woman snapped. “I think we’re done here.” She rose from her chair, only to be caught by the arm and pulled back down.

“Please,” Conrad said, “Stay. We have so much more to talk about.”

“Release me, or you shall go the way of Esther.”

“Now, now,” Benny called, bursting through the door, “no need to be hasty.”

The guildmaster shot him a scathing look but released the elf, “Yes.” He reclined, “There is no need for haste. Please, forgive my discourteous outburst. I am not used to women declining my offers, the ones we get are normally much more, desperate.”

“I am not desperate,” Dahlia growled, storming from the room, “I am bored.”

She made it halfway down the hallway before a strong hand on her arm stopped her. Dahlia whirled around, pulling her arm free and readying her staff, only to see Conrad raising his hands plaintively, “Miss, please. I do not wish to fight with you.” Dahlia lowered her weapon. He smiled and continued, “I want only for you to become more influential in the guild. You have such promise. I would hate to see you turn down such an offer simply because you have people that dislike you in the North.”

Dahlia snorted, “Give me something a bit more tangible and maybe I will consider your offer.”

Conrad reached for his hip, pulling a pouch from his belt. “How’s fifty silver upfront sound? No mission required, simply a promotional bonus.”

“I used to throw bags of fifty silver at slaves, you’ll have to do better.” She said, closing the gap between them. The elf examined her guildmaster closely. He wasn’t ugly, but was just this side of handsome; broad shouldered, but slight of frame, sharp featured and finely clothed. He smelled strangely of lilacs.

“And what constitutes ‘better’?” he asked, look at her with the same scrutiny.

Dahlia snorted loudly and turned on her heel, “You’re a smart guy, you figure it out.” And with that, she left him, taking off the way Benny had brought her. She got lost once on the way up, but managed to find her way out of the building before bumping into anyone.

It had been a gamble, but not one she was entirely unfamiliar with. She’d spent years cultivating skills and tugging around connections to finally gain her power as Sylora Salm’s champion, and that was in Thay. She’d had no experience and barely any training back then. Now, she was battle-hardened, taught by months on the road with a ranger, through mishaps in pirate dens and treks through ancient dwarven ruins. Pulling the strings on a guildmaster for better perks should be chump change.

She could never be sure though.

Dahlia hesitated just outside the door. The idea of skipping town altogether, just in case she’d overstepped and he wanted to come after, her crossed her mind just briefly. She had to take her chances now. See what came of this.

It was the best opportunity she’d seen in a long time, there was no way she could pass it up.

-0-0-0-0-0-

She let her weight shift from one foot to the other as she listened to Draygo Quick explain his plan. She didn’t think it would work, and frankly, it sounded more desperate and crazy than anything. Part of her wanted to walk right up to him and slap him across the face until he saw reason.

The lord Quick had been acting strangely since his precious little sonnet went up in so much magical smoke. He’d called in all his favors, sending his allies to hunt down Chosen that they could bring to him before the Sundering, whatever it may be, started. His resources thin, he’d called upon the Shifter to pick up some of the slack _and_ tail Drizzt Do’Urden and his party from an uncomfortably far distance. He was batty, talking in short, choppy sentences and pacing a great deal in the hallways of his steadily emptying, only partially rebuilt castle. He consulted his notes so frequently it made her head spin.

“Only a matter of time,” he said for the third time that day.

“Until what?” the Shifter nearly shouted, “We sweep in and capture Do’Urden? Because that worked _so well_ in Ashenglade. You know, up until little-boy-Effron gave you the business and took his staff back. You think his friends are going to desert him? That they’ll just up and leave him like that,” She snapped her fingers angrily trying to resist the urge to pick up something and throw it, “I am tired of all these useless little missions and your ceaseless obsession with this drow. He knows nothing. He has _nothing for us._ If the Sundering is really half as bad as your asinine behavior would have the casual observer believe, we should be battening down and preparing for the end of the world not hunting down some knife-eared lunatic and his stupid friends.” She stopped her tirade, panting and wiping spittle from her lip with the back of her hand. “I’m tired,” she said, tone even, “I’m an illusionist. A spy. But I did _not_ sign up for this insanity. So when you want to get yourself together and get back to me, go right ahead.” With a huff, she headed toward the door.

The diatribe sobered Draygo a bit, “Shifter,” he called, walking toward the door but not knowing where exactly to look, “wait, please. I still need you.”

“No, Quick,” she groaned, “I’m done with this. When the Sundering comes, it comes and I shall deal with my sliver of the world in my own way, thank you very much.”

“I’ll double your fee,” he pleaded.

“Not interested,” She was in the doorway, wanting so badly to slam the door but knowing it would give away her true position.

“I’ll triple it,” he added, “you name it and I shall make it so.”

The Shifter paused, “You really need me so badly?” Draygo nodded, and she sighed, “How much longer will I have to put up with this.”

“Weeks,” he said, “Perhaps only days. Once everything is in place, once I have my prisoner you can take your pay and be out with the rest of the world and be done with this.” He held out his hands, “But I need you on my side. I need your gifts, your talents, your knowledge to get where I need to be. Please.”

She folded her arms and shot the warlock a dirty look, “What is my role in all this? Do I just sit and gather information only to come back and have you yammer at me until the sun rises? Or will I be able to do something more productive.”

“You, my dear,” Draygo said with a slight bow of his head, “have one of the most important roles of all.”

The Shifter blew a heavy sigh through her nose and returned to the room, “You have me for a few more days. No more than a tenday. At twice my normal rate.”

“Consider it done.”

“This better be as important as your manners imply.”

The warlock crossed the room again, settling back against his desk, “Oh, it will be. Now, if you please, return to Neverwinter. You know what to do.”

The Shifter nodded. “Find the hideout, set up the scrying devices,” she listed, “wait for the signal. I must ask though, why is this Chosen so important?”

He smiled at her, but it wasn’t comforting. “If my theory is right, the Chosen act as an anchor, or a beacon, for their deities. If we bring him here there’s a chance that the Shadowfell may stay attached to Faerun when the gods divvy up the planes again.”

The woman made a face, “Are you sure? That doesn’t sound anything like the sonnet said.”

“I’m almost positive,” Draygo replied, “Now go, quickly, before we miss our opportunity.”

With shrug, she was gone.

-0-0-0-0-0-

The thunder of footsteps on the other side of the tunnel wall. A mass exodus, perhaps, or something else, Tiago could not be certain. All he knew was that there were a lot of people moving very quickly and not caring to muffle their footfalls. The Baenre followed the trail of noise to its end hearing Kimmuriel’s voice call for a name.

“He has vanished, guildmaster,” a voice replied.

“What?” Kimmuriel did not sound like himself. His voice was the same, but something about his tone was sharper, higher pitched. He called another name and received a similar response. “Are all these people dead?” he called.

“No, sir,” a fresh voice called above the din of questions, “They have returned to the Clawrift awaiting orders from their guildmaster.”

“Hune!” Kimmuriel’s voice shouted, “I should have guessed as much. And Jarlaxle has loaned you his eyepatch, of course.” He paused, “Why have they returned to Menzoberranzan, Hune?”

Tiago could hear a smirk in the lieutenant’s voice, “Because they had orders from their guildmaster to return home when their orders were carried out.” A curt laugh, “It seems that this,” a break and Tiago imagined Valas Hune gesturing to all the gathered elves, “is all you have in this place now.”

“Do not sound so smug,” the psioicist snarled, “I know this is your and Jarlaxle’s doing.”

Valas Hune laughed, “I am but a messenger. If anyone has given orders, it is Jarlaxle and the only reason in the world those drow would have to take those orders is if they did not want to listen to you. Look me in the eye, Kimmuriel Oblodra and tell me you do not know where you stand with these people. This kind of schism was bound to happen.”

“Have Jarlaxle come here and say that to my face, not send his errand boy.” Kimmuriel growled, “Unless…” there was a choking silence. “What is he doing? Where is he?”

Valas Hune did not answer.

“Come back here, lieutenant, I’m not finished-“

Valas laughed again, “For someone so smart you are rather forgetful. Perhaps you will remember this time: I don’t take orders from you.”

Tiago heard the crowd disperse on Kimmuriel’s order, “Find _everyone._ I mean _every single mercenary_ still in this complex that is not loyal to me and my designs. Every spy, every assassin, every new recruit, anyone you have not seen in this room, take him and rip out his heart. Let him watch its beating slow as he dies. Go!”

The Baenre felt something unfamiliar flow through him, quickening his breath and leaving his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He knew what it was: fear. Panic.

They were going to find him.

He had to leave.

Tiago rushed back to his room to collect his equipment. Slinging his shield across his back and his sword firmly at his side, he began to creep out of the complex. A group of mercenaries cut off his route not once but three times and he found himself trapped in a side chamber. He sighed heavily; trying to breathe evenly and form a plan of attack should he have to fight his way out.

He barracaded the door with a few pieces of stray furniture, and bided his time. Once his barricade was complete, he noticed the quality of its pieces. He spun around surveying the room in its entirety, catching the small shrine and several little statues among the odds and ends.

This was Saribel’s room.

The Baenre cracked a wide smile and tried to suppress a laugh. Of course he would end up in Saribel’s room as he was leaving. Running a hand through his short hair he considered the serendipitous location. A priestess was bound to have some useful items stashed away somewhere, perhaps something even Tiago could use to facilitate his escape.

Resisting the urge to argue with himself against the action, he began searching the room, mindful of traps and sacred objects. He found a few scrolls of minor spells, a bag of coin, and several tiny spiders in a box for some reason. In the vanity drawer, however, under a few handkerchiefs in the very back corner he found something that made the whole search worthwhile. Something that meant he would not have to flee to the surface, or to Menzoberranzan if he played his cards right and gathered the proper information. Something that ensured he had an ally somewhere.

A bargaining chip.

 He remembered mention of an ally Jarlaxle kept in the Neverwinter area, someone in tune with magic and easy enough to find. Tiago pocketed the little gem, resolving to consult that contact and get the information he’d need to set his fall-plan into motion. Quietly, he removed the furniture and pressed his ear to the door.

Silence.

He met no resistance for the rest of his trek out of the complex.

-0-0-0-0-0-

The night was deep and dark when Dahlia finally returned to her room at the safehouse. She cursed herself for not changing back into her plain clothes before leaving, feeling the lecherous eyes of drunkards on her as she made her way home. The door to her room was ajar when she turned the corner.  A silent flick of her wrist, and Kozah’s Needle was ready in her hands. She prodded the door open with the butt of her staff.

“Settle yourself, beautiful, you’ll get wrinkles with all that worry,” Conrad smiled, sitting on the edge of her bed.

Dahlia dropped her stance, but did not relinquish her grip on her weapon, “You?” she snorted, “What are you doing here?”

“Come inside, please,” he replied, beckoning her, “I wish only to be civil. Perhaps, more than civil.”

Dahlia rolled her eyes, but stepped in, closing the door behind her.

“I like your attitude,” the guildmaster said, rising, “You’ve got a fire in you that I greatly admire. I have come to make you a new offer.”

“Just don’t call me ‘beautiful’ again,” she chided.

A toothy smile and a heartless laugh, “If I knew your name, I wouldn’t have to.”

“You know what you need to.”

He laughed again. “Fair enough. Now, about my offer. I would like you to come to the main house with me, in Skullport.”

Dahlia took a defensive step back, “So you can send me out spying from there?”

“No,” he closed the gap between them, “I do not want you exclusively as a spy. But as a personal guest as well,” his voice and his eyes dropped low.

The elf lowered her weapons with a curled lip, “I have come to find the company of men problematic. They are unreliable, unfortunate, pathetic, and pitiful creatures all of them. I’ve grown tired of their advances.”

“I could make the same argument for women,” he whispered, sidling in closer.

“And you could be wrong.” Conrad placed his hand on her hip, and pulled her close. Dahlia dropped her staff and caught him by the wrist and shoulder holding him fast but not forcing him away. When he did not press further she gave him a growl without anger, “Do I have to hurt you?”

“I’d prefer it if you did,” he smiled brightly.

Dahlia raised a curious eyebrow. She couldn’t say she wasn’t intrigued by the proposition, that she hadn’t found herself accepting in a similar situation. The quickest way to power was through man’s trousers, she’d found and this was undoubtedly no exception. She felt the hand on her hip slide down to the hem of her borrowed garments, brushing the skin of her thigh, reminding her just how long it had been since another person had pulled her close in something other than rage. Her grip on his wrist and shoulder loosened.

His smile grew wider and he slipped closer to her. “I can give great things to someone like yourself, and I imagine you can give me great things in return.”

“You’ll have to win me over then.”

Conrad’s laugh was lower, darker, and husky as he pulled her into the room and closer to the bed, accepting her challenge.

Dahlia collected her things and left with him for Skullport just before sunrise.


	7. Safe Places

Jarlaxle caught the eyepatch midflight, not turning to face the elf that threw it. “I imagine you got the information I asked for,” he said, replacing the patch on his face, “though why you needed this, I am uncertain.”

“I’d been looking for days with nothing,” Valas Hune replied, standing beside the mercenary and following his line of sight, though he didn’t see anything of particular interest, “Tiago was a slippery one, but I managed to weed him out with a little of Kimmuriel’s help. Oblodra’s coming apart at the seams by the way, it’s a little hilarious.”

Jarlaxle shook his head with a soft laugh, “Tread lightly now, we don’t want to break him.”

“Yet. Will you be returning with the others?”

Jarlaxle nodded, “I have orders to issue, but I will be back in Neverwinter in less than a tenday. I need you to do one more thing while I’m gone.”

Valas stood up a little straighter, “Name it.”

“Keep an eye on Do’Urden. Don’t get too close, and don’t let Tiago get wind of him.” Jarlaxle sounded distant, but Valas knew better than to ask about it, “The ranger has more important things to do that worry about a Baenre on his back.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” the other drow replied with knowing smirk.

“What makes you say that?”

Valas’s smile grew wider, “Tiago Baenre left Neverwinter this morning. He went south, though, not north toward Menzoberranzan.”

Jarlaxle made a face, “Where is he going?”

The lieutenant shrugged, “I don’t know, but it looks like he’ll be out of our- well, _my_ \- hair for a while.”

“Don’t let your guard down,” Jarlaxle ordered, “he could come back. Regardless, keep an eye on Do’Urden. Send word if anything abnormal happens.”

Valas raised an eyebrow, “You’re going to need to define ‘abnormal’ for me; ‘he starts acting like _you_ ’ abnormal, or ‘he starts randomly killing children’ abnormal, or ‘he does some ancient orcish rain-dance and cats fall from the sky’ abnormal?”

Jarlaxle turned on his heel with a laugh, “You’re an ass. Get to work.”

“Yessir.”

-0-0-0-0-0-

Light broke through the trees in ribbons of bright green and yellow. The songs of the birds melded together so fluidly that the noise didn’t even really register unless one was trying to pick a particular melody from the din. Leaves and twigs crunched beneath their feet in some places, rich soil tried to steal their boots in others. The smell of grass and dust and the hint of fresh rainfall hovered around them beside the occasional insect or falling leaf.

Drizzt breathed deep, falling back in line with the group and trying to clear his thoughts. He could feel the group watching him with scrutiny now, as though expecting him to crack and go on a rampage. The ranger wondered just how much Entreri had told them, and felt vaguely angered at the idea.

_He’s only going to betray you._

Drizzt shook his head again, shortened lock of hair hanging stubbornly in his face when he stopped.

_You know it’s true. He’ll betray you. You could put a preemptive end to that now._

_Artemis would not betray me_ , Drizzt thought back trying to hold his resolve and not speak aloud to the whispering over his shoulder, _he’s proven that loyalty. He saved me in Icewind Dale, he came for me in Gauntlgrym._

_It is only a matter of time._

“Copper for your thoughts?” Drizzt nearly jumped when Effron appeared beside him. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No,” Drizzt said quickly. He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath, “Is something happening?”

“Athrogate and Ambergris sense goblins or smell them or something. I don’t know. I wasn’t really paying attention. Artemis and Afafrenfere are helping them track them down.” Effron smiled.

The ranger looked about and noticed all of his friends were absent. “I- why didn-“

“Artemis said you were still a bit unwell and should take it easy until we get to Neverwinter,” Effron rolled his eyes, “And I’m terrible at tracking so,” he gestured widely with his staff, “here we are.”

The drow’s shoulders sagged a bit, “I’m fine, Effron,” he said indignantly, “Entreri is just overcautious. Which way did they go?” He looked around for breaks in the leaves or other signs of their passage. When Effron didn’t answer he whirled around, “Effron?”

The young warklock was staring off into the woods, expression thoughtful. Muscles in his face and neck flexed with thought, and he looked to Drizzt after several moments. He made a slightly confused face, then a flash of concern and several words Drizzt saw but couldn’t hear. The birdsongs were changing. The light in the trees took on an orange hue.

“Effron?” Drizzt said again, but the word was cut short on wave of pain in his head, completely knocking out his vision and leaving his ears ringing.

He heard laughter.

Drizzt doubled over, coughing and struggling to breathe. He smelled smoke. A hand rested on his shoulder and held him steady and he could hear Effron’s voice shouting under gallons of water and that insufferable laughter.

_Only a matter of time_.

Just as quickly as the episode began it was over, and the ranger pulled himself upright; a bit dizzy and with several tiny dwarves hammering away at the back of his forehead, but otherwise not much worse for wear. He wobbled a bit, but Effron’s hand on his shoulder held him steady. “Drizzt?” he asked softly, “Are you okay?”

The drow nodded, but found his tongue reluctant to comply with any of the reassuring words his brain told it to say. Effron didn’t seem convinced and eased him against a tree and to the ground. The ranger felt a tug at the side of his belt and saw Effron checking the weight of Drizzt’s wineskin before offering it back to him. Drizzt closed his eyes and drank deeply, trying to get the caustic bitterness of smoke out of his throat. The rustle of leaves and cracking of twigs nearby heralded the return of the rest of their companions.

Artemis’s voice was the first on he heard as they approached, “What happened?” The heavy twinge of concern in the assassin’s voice tightened Drizzt’s throat and made his chest ache.

Before Effron could answer, Ambergris chimed in with another question, “Did ye feel it too?”

Effron made an affirmative noise, “The change in the air. Magic. I think Drizzt felt it too. He had a bit of an episode.” The ranger heard the others beckon Effron over telling the warlock to give him some air. They discussed the fluctuation of magic in the air and what it felt like to each of them; Atrogate claiming that the two magic users were crazy and that there was no such thing as “fluctuations of magic.”

When Drizzt finally managed to open his eyes, Artemis had replaced Effron. The assassin took careful account of him before speaking in a soft, soothing tone, “Still with us?”

Drizzt nodded, but the motion made his head hurt worse. “Yeah, I think so,” he grunted, “Where did I go?”

Artemis made a face. “Not far,” he said after a moment. He pressed a hand to the ranger’s forehead, “You’re burning up. I should have Ambergris take a-“

The ranger took him by the wrist and held him still, “No.” He nearly pleaded for Artemis to not leave him, a wave of fear washing over him. He felt the heat, he’d smelled the fire, heard the laughter, in broad daylight. The air felt heavy around him. His breath shook. “I’m okay. I just need a moment.”

The human sank from his crouch to sit beside him, “Are you sure?”

Drizzt nodded, “Yes.”

“Is he okay?” Afafrenfere called as the four companions approached.

“I’m fine,” Drizzt said, even when Ambergris leaned in to get a better look at him, “Amber, please, I’m alright.”

“Can ye stand?” She asked, offering him a strong hand.

He took it and let the dwarf haul him to his feet. He tottered, but Artemis caught him before he could fall back to the ground. “Let’s keep going,” Drizzt breathed when concerned expressions bore down on him, “the sooner we get there, the better.”

“Agreed,” Effron chimed in.

The six companions set back on their course; Effron taking up with the others at the front of the group, eyeing Drizzt and Artemis over his shoulder. “Something is going on here,” he whispered to Afafrenfere after a time.

“At least they aren’t fighting anymore,” the monk sighed, “but I see it too. What do you think it is?”

The warlock shook his head, “I’m not sure.” He turned his gaze to the path and thought for a moment, “You remember what Drizzt said a while back, about how Draygo thought that he was a Chosen and was going to be some harbinger of doom or something equally stupid sounding?”

“I thought we chalked that up to the old man being crazy,” Afafrenfere snorted.

“Yes, but what if he was right?” Effron chewed his lip, “What if the influence of his god and the coming Sundering are clashing and making him ill?”

“That’s insane, and you know it,” the mock chided, “and, even if he was a Chosen, wouldn’t his god be _helping_ him; you know, making him more powerful and all that noise like Elminster?”

Effron felt uneasy, but had to nod, “I suppose you’re right. In that case, I have no idea what this is.”

Ambergris cut in, “Maybe he’s just feverish and ill like Entreri’s been telling us and is too proud to admit it. I mean, c’mon, if anyone’s going to know what’s going on it’s gonna be the one sharing a bed with the guy.” She gave a bright, reassuring smile to the warlock, “If Artemis ain’t worried, we shouldn’t be either.”

Effron looked back over his shoulder at Drizzt and Artemis. Aside from a steadying hand on the ranger’s shoulder the assassin seemed unfettered by the episode. The young warlock breathed a little easier.

-0-0-0-0-0-

“We should go back,” Berellip grumbled, “This place will be a lost cause if we leave Ravel and the mercenaries to their own devices. We either go back to Zeerith or take over.” Her sister continued to ramble until Saribel raised a hand to silence her.

“That is enough. Things are fine.”

The priestess’s eyes widened in outrage, “’Fine’?” she echoed, “You think things are ‘ _fine_ ’? All that’s happened recently? The men are _losing their minds_. The mages and other clerics believe the Spellplague is returning.  And you-? No, Saribel, things are _not_ fine.” She blew an angry breath out of her nose like a bull ready to charge, “We need to do something. We have to take power over Gauntlgrym back before everything goes awry and we have to pick up the pieces!”

Saribel raised an eyebrow, “Are you finished?”

“I might be.”

The priestess rolled her eyes, “Everything _is_ fine, Berellip.”

“How-“ The other woman stammered, “How can you say that. How, in any sort of faith, can you say that things are fine in this moment? Please, enlighten me so that I might share in that confidence.” The poisonous bite of sarcasm did nothing to her sister.

Saribel reached into a fold in her robes and pulled out a small spider, “I have eyes everywhere, dear sister. I know when things are going wrong.”

“I’m going to need more than cryptic messages and fancy magic tricks to go on.”

Saribel laughed, “I have one trained on every single person that needs an eye on them. I know where everyone stands, and no one dare break them. I even put two in Ravel’s room simply because I could.”

Berellip made a face, “Just because you know what’s going on doesn’t mean you’ll be able to stop-“ the priestess caught herself, realization dawning on her, “It isn’t about stopping the events at all is it?”

Saribel smiled all the wider at her sister, “Now you’re catching on.”

“So what do we do now? Wait?”

“I think,” Saribel mused, smile becoming wicked, “it is time we reported to Quenthel about the status of her golden-boy nephew, don’t you? I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to hear of his desertion.”

The two women shared a laugh.

A soft knock came to Saribel’s door, and she rose to answer it. “Ravel?” she was surprised to see the Spellspinner on the other side of the door, “What are you doing here? I told you not to disturb-“

His eyes were wide, his face ashen. “We have a problem.”

-0-0-0-0-0-

“Is everything to your liking?” Conrad smiled at the slight, elfin woman perched atop his desk, “I’ve tried to be most accommodating.”

Dahlia pursed her lips, “It is surprising,” she replied, “I was not expecting such luxury in a fighters’ guild.” She gestured about her; overstuffed chairs, the soft light of covered lanterns, satiny cushions on the sofas, expensive rugs on the floor.

“We are more than just fighters,” he explained, raising his glass, “we offer other services as well; liaising for the thieves’ guilds, hosting parties, that sort of thing. Mercenary work is but one facet of the gem that is my guild.”

She returned his coy smile, “Ah, I see. So what ‘facet’ do I fit into? Beat downs? Espionage?”

“Oh, I have a very special position for you,” He closed the gap between them, “Something in the information gathering line. “ He sighed, “A bit of bad news, though, your guildmates are rather fond of hazing the new people. I hope you have thick skin.”

Dahlia scoffed, “I’ve gotten this far, haven’t I?”

Conrad nodded, “Yes, of course. I just thought I would give you a little warning.” He pulled away, setting down his glass and offering his hand to the elf, “Come, I’ll show you to your room.”

She took the hand out of courtesy, releasing it as soon as her feet hit the floor, and followed Conrad from the lavish office. The hallways were not much simpler, sporting elaborate tapestries and soft rugs. Several doors lined the halls, each one of dark wood with shining brass handles, all with multiple locks; some turned some not. Occasionally a bright fern would appear on a wall or in a vase between the doors, adding a touch of the surface and freshening the stale Underdark air. As they trekked down the corridors the pair passed a lounge, furnished in similar fashion to Conrad’s office and filled to bursting with people speaking in hushed voices.  Eventually they arrived at the door to her room, dark wood and brass like all the others.

Conrad smiled at her, pulling a small key from his pocket and setting to work on the door.

Dahlia let her gaze wander to the other doors, noting damages to the wood and fixtures, perhaps from frequent slamming? Being kicked in? She supposed that with a group of brawlers all in one place some damage was bound to happen. She swept the hall, frays in the rug, empty spots on the wall where pictures or plants once hung. A young woman, not much older in appearance than Dahlia herself, stood at one end, partially hidden behind a corner eyeing thing suspiciously. The girl’s scowl deepened as Conrad pulled away and opened the door. Dahlia could see the girl’s look go from anger to pity as she watched over the guildmaster’s shoulder.

“Miss? Your room,” He said, getting her attention with the sharp clearing of his throat.

“How many other women are here?” Dahlia asked, hesitating to set foot in the room.

Conrad blinked in surprise at the question, but took it in stride, “This whole hall is all women. New ones and troublemakers, mostly.”

“When will I meet them?”

“Soon.”

The answer, simple as it was, unsettled her, “I would like to meet them now, if that is okay.”

“Nonsense,” He laughed as though a child had proposed the idea, “you should get settled in first. The girls will still be there in the morning and you won’t be disturbing their slumber then.”

“I suppose,” Dahlia conceded, not really able to argue with the statement though something in her gut desperately wanted to. “It is late. Good night, Conrad.” She stepped into the room, her guildmaster handing her the key to the locks as she passed and shutting the door behind her.

The room was another step up from the ones she’d had at the safehouse, well-furnished and clean, with soft bed and down pillows. She collapsed heavily onto the blankets with a contented sigh at her moving up in the world.

But the girl in the hallway, all sad-eyed and pitying disconcerted her.

So did the key in her hand.

Dahlia looked up at the door; two locks. Curious, and a little alarmed, she rose, testing the door. It didn’t budge.

She growled at herself for her naivety and for letting the girl distract her so. She stalked back to her bed, took a pillow, and pressed it to her face, screaming loudly into its plush down to vent her frustration.

-0-0-0-0-0-

“What did _you do, Ravel?_ ” Berellip screamed over the roar of the forges and the flowing of water. “I swear if you don’t fix this, this instant I will send you, feet first, into the blaze!” The scene was all too familiar to the Xorlarrins: water elementals scouring the forges and filling the place to flooding, tendrils of the primordial’s flame and small pockets of sentient fire rising against them only to be struck down in a cloud of steam as soon as they formed.

Ravel held out his hands, pleading, to Saribel, “I had nothing to do with this,” he begged, “I was in my quarters when a group of soldiers came to get me. I have no idea how this happened, you have to believe me.”

The trio picked their way through to the primordial chamber to investigate the damage. The great beast of flame was still trapped in its prison, but it seemed much closer to freedom now than it had been a few days ago. The swirling whirlpool that engulfed it ran black and laden with ash.

“I think it has something to do with the hiccup in magic earlier,” Ravel said, trying to calm his still furious sister, “It must have weakened the elementals. I’m not sure how yet, but that’s what I think.”

Berellip growled angrily at him.

“I’ll find out what caused this,” he assured her, “and I will find out how to fix it.”

“If the elementals are taken,” Saribel replied, “It won’t matter why, we will all be dead.”

Ravel, trying to hide the look of terror in his face and failing miserably, nodded, “Yes. Perhaps we should evacuate the important people to a safer distance, just in case. At least until I can figure something out.”

“Be quick, Ravel,” Saribel replied, taking Berellip by the arm, “If Gauntlgrym is lost it is you that will have to answer to Matron Zeerith and Quenthel, not us.”

Ravel nodded and watched them go. He had expected a bit more insight from his sisters, at least some agreement to his theory, but it was clear that they were not here to help him. He ran a concerned hand over his face, staring into the blaze until his eyes hurt. The Spellspinner did not like the idea of consulting Kimmuriel so soon, but time was of the essence. He took a deep, steadying breath and set off to find the psionicist.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Nightfall came quickly in Neverwinter Wood, and the six companions managed to sneak around the wall and into an abandoned portion of the city under cover of darkness. Most of the buildings were little more than rubble on the street and the ones that were viable were too close to populated areas to be safe. They had to pass unseen through the city, if anyone caught wind of their presence-

“Hey!” A slightly shrill voice hissed at them from the shadows, “What are you doing?”

Artemis, at the head of the group, ducked into a space between two buildings, doubling back to the source of the noise. Drizzt tried to stop him, but by the time he caught up to the assassin, he was gone. “Artemis,” the ranger called softly, “Don’t hurt him.”

The group of five stood in the street, searching for the source of the noise, only to have their attentions drawn by a sharp “Ow!” in the darkness.

“You again?” Artemis groaned, tossing the short, dark-haired boy into the street at the feet of his companions, “Wasn’t sending me into a crumbling building enough? Why must you pester us?”

The boy scoffed and pushed himself up on his elbows, “Hey, I’m trying to help you out here. No need to get rough.”

The assassin made a derisive noise and stepped over the boy.

“Help us?” Afafrenfere asked, helping the child to his feet, “How?”

“You guys look like you need a place to stay,” he said, brushing the dust from his tattered clothes, “I know a place no one’ll look for you.” He turned to Artemis, “It’s the least I can do after…” he trailed off, looking forlorn.

“Where?” the monk asked, pulling the boy’s attention back to him.

The boy pointed to a large building not too far from the inn, “The old temple. It’s close enough to civilization that you can hear what’s going on but no one’s really wanted to go anywhere near the place since the priest that worshipped there went crazy and ran screaming through the streets.” He shrugged his shoulders, “They think the place is haunted or something.”

“ _Is_ it haunted?” Ambergris deadpanned.

“I’ve been in and out of there for three full moons and I haven’t seen a single ghost or heard a noise I couldn’t explain.”

The dwarf nodded her approval. Afafrenfere mimicked the motion, “Take us there.”

 

The boy led them on a roundabout route through the city to the temple. The building had been cleared of furnishings aside from a few dusty, cobweb-ridden chairs and tables. The shrines had been stripped of precious metals, the bookshelves of their tomes, and most of the walls had pale patches where tapestries used to lie. The only adornments that remained were curtains on the windows, too heavy to be moved by the average townsperson. The group split to examine the space and pick their sleeping places. Ambergris and Athrogate taking a side room, Drizzt and Artemis taking another on the opposite side, Afafrenfere and Effron opting to sleep between them in the main chamber.

Smiling widely at Afafrenfere, the boy held out his arms, “Nice, eh? I’d be willing to get you supplies too, you’d have to pay for them, as well as a fee.”

“Of course we would,” Artemis grumbled, rolling his eyes. “If we need anything, we’ll tell you.” He held up a hand, “As in, we will leave a message for you somewhere in the city, not ‘you can just barge in and ask,’ got it?”

“Of course.”

Artemis and the boy worked out a place where the assassin could leave requests should the group need anything that wasn’t already in their travel gear, along with a messengers’ fee for the boy, as the rest of the group settled in. At the end of the conversation the human and the boy shook hands, “You have name, kid?”

“Hugo,” the boy said.

“Scram, Hugo,” Artemis ordered with harsh look, and before he had time to blink the boy was skittering away.

When he was completely gone, the group set to work securing the building and getting ready for bed.

“Good deeds beget good things,” Drizzt sang as Artemis plopped down on his bedroll beside the drow.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the assassin replied coldly. The ranger maintained his knowing, happy look until Artemis punched him in the arm, “Stop with the face.”

“Ow,” Drizzt rubbed the sore spot on just below his shoulder, “so mean.”

They laughed like children for a moment, the weight of the day ebbing in the darkness. Their voices echoed a bit on the walls, what with the space of the room and lack of furnishings, so the laughter died quickly.

“How are you feeling?” Artemis asked, suddenly somber.

The ranger hesitated, “I feel fine,” he said, “Well, better. Still a little dizzy.” The image of the forest fire flashed before his eyes, he smelled smoke again.

The laughter.

“I’m okay,” Drizzt said, more to drown out the noise and erase the image than to reassure Artemis.  “Really.”

“You don’t sound okay,” Artemis grumbled. A cold hand pressed against Drizzt’s cheek, “And you’re warm again. I can-“

The ranger took hold of the human’s wrist, feeling like he was back in the forest all over again. “Artemis, really, I’m okay. I just need to sleep it off.” He leaned into the human’s touch, trying to pull him closer, but the human resisted. “Artemis?”

Entreri slid in closer, pressing his forehead to the ranger’s and tangling a hand his soft hair, “Why are you lying to me? What are you hiding?”

Surprised, Drizzt tried to pull away, tried to sputter an argument, but Artemis help him firmly in place by the hair at the nape of his neck. “Artemis,” he pleaded, “I’m not-“

“Stop,” the human whispered, “just stop. Either tell me the truth or don’t say anything at all.” He sighed through his nose, “I have watched you fall apart and pretend to be okay for days on end. I know that you’re lying to me about it because, for a drow, you’re pretty terrible liar.” The hand in Drizzt’s hair loosened, “Why? You told me, all those months ago that you wanted armor, and now that I am willing to protect you, you run from me.”

Drizzt’s heart leapt into his throat at the mention of that night in Port Llast. He’d been needy and vulnerable then and Artemis was the only one he thought he could turn two. He still thought about that night on occasion, their first real night together. It felt like a lifetime ago. “I’m not running from you, Artemis,” Drizzt whimpered and felt the human’s hand tighten and pull threateningly until he gave in, “ _My burdens are not yours to bear_ ,” he said, perhaps too loudly.

Artemis made a noise, accepting the answer and releasing the elf. Drizzt rubbed the small burning patch at the base of his skull where strands had been torn free. “I don’t want to encumber you,” Drizzt continued, “You have your own life to deal with, you don’t need mine too.”

“Don’t make your self-destruction,” Artemis bit, lying flat against his pillow, “sound like a selfless gesture. It isn’t. It never will be, because if you fall you will tear all of us down with you.”

The drow rested a hand on the assassin’s chest, “Artemis, if I truly needed aid, I would ask. I have this under control, it’s just… challenging.”

Artemis made a disapproving noise, but pulled Drizzt down with him, letting the elf rest his ear against his chest. It was a simple gesture that had become commonplace between them, symbolic even. The steady thrum of the assassin’s heartbeat was enough to drown out most of Drizzt’s errant, anxious thoughts. “Maybe we should do another day,” Drizzt laughed, trying to lighten the mood. “You know, ‘work on our…’ how did you put it ‘rocky disposition to each other’?”

“’Day?’” Artemis chuckled, already knowing the answer.

“You remember,” Drizzt chided, playing along, “the day everyone got on our case about because we didn’t leave the room?”

“If I recall correctly,” Artemis raised an accusatory finger, “we did not leave the _bed._ ”

They shared another laugh, settling and letting the tension disperse. “Artemis,” Drizzt said softly, feeling the human’s breathing beginning to slow as he drifted off to sleep.

“Hmm?”

“If something was very wrong with me,” Drizzt asked, “if I truly need your help, you would give it, right? You wouldn’t abandon me if things got… out of control or scary? Even if you had no idea how to actually help, would you stay?”

Artemis tensed beside him, “I would stay,” he said firmly, “I’ve stayed long enough. As for helping you if things… went wrong,” he paused, but relaxed, “I would try.”

Drizzt scooted in closer, wrapping an appreciative arm around the assassin and receiving a protective squeeze in return.  The steady beat in his ear and the warm body beside him lulled the ranger to sleep. He felt better, clear, safe. The assassin gave him another tight squeeze, whispering “I would try,” again before drifting off into slumber, Drizzt close behind him.

_He’s lying._


	8. Glow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, in case any extra-sensitive peeps are reading this. There's a bit of a "dubious" consent issue that was brought to my attention when I posted this chapter on tumblr. (It's two adults, but one is not in a proper state of mind for consent) so you can read at your own discretion. Pretty much: if you get to a spot where you start to feel uncomfortable, skip to the next section break, and you'll be okay.

Drizzt and Artemis were the last to join the group for breakfast. They collected in a loose circle, breaking bread and chatting about meaningless things. Eventually, their conversation turned to the day before and the episode in the forest.

“Ye people are nuts,” Athrogate snorted, “I didn’t feel a thing.”

“Neither did I,” Afafrenfere chimed in.

Effron snorted at them, “You guys aren’t open to magic. You’d feel a shift in the weather, the physical changes, not the metaphysical.”

“Oh, now yer just making up words,” Athrogate sneered at the warlock. Artemis laughed and threw a small piece of bread at him.

“What did ye feel, exactly?” Ambergris asked, “I don’t think ye told me.”

Effron shrugged his shoulder, “Depleted. Confused, a bit disoriented, like I casted every spell in my arsenal at once. I was completely wiped out.” He ran a hand through his hair, “Still feel it a little, actually. And what did you say? You felt burdened?”

“Aye,” Amber nodded, “too much o’ the stuff. Like it’d be comin’ out my ears if I wasn’t careful.” Effron made an uncomfortable noise and shook his head at the thought. “What happened to you?” the warlock turned to Drizzt, “You obviously felt it too. What was it like?”

Drizzt hesitated. He remembered the blaze, the warmth of his imagined forest fire and the choking smoke it created, the noise and the laughter and the voice at his shoulder, the true and mind-numbing dread that he’d felt. “I felt,” he began, trying to remember how he’d behaved outwardly, “like I was suffocating. As though the air was too thick to breathe. Made me dizzy, my head was pounding.”

“That sounds closer to you than me,” Effron said, looking to Ambergris, “You think the feeling has to do with magical influence?”

“Priests are burdened, mages depleted,” Ambergris mused, “Sounds as good an explanation as any.”

Drizzt shook his head, “But I am no priest and I’ve never claimed to be.”

“But there’s a chance,” Effron argued, “That you might be a Chosen. Divine influence may have caused the fit.”

“The how do you explain what happened to me?” Artemis asked. “I am neither priest nor mage, and the gods have never shown interest in me.”

All eyes turned to the assassin as Effron replied, “What happened?”

“I felt as though someone shot me in the back with an arrow,” Entreri explained, “Not some goblin dart either. It knocked me over and took the breath out of me; I thought I was going to die for a few moments. The closest thing I can think of that compares to it was when Alegni threw a sword through my chest and brought me back when it killed me.”

Drizzt felt a cold weight in his heart for a moment at the image the assassin conjured. He could see it, clear as day: the human in obvious agony with Alegni standing over him laughing as he slowly bled to death on the floor.

“Drizzt?” Effron’s voice pulled him back to reality. Everyone was staring at him with concerned and confused looks.

“You have something you want to share with the rest of us, chuckles?” Artemis growled, with a bitter, hateful look in his eye.

“I-“ Drizzt stammered, “I don’t know where that came from. I haven’t been myself since yesterday.”

Entreri’s scowl deepened, but the answer seemed to placate the rest of the group. The ranger, uncomfortable, decided to change the subject, “We’ll need to get information about the goings on in Gauntlgrym,” he raised a hand to the dwarves as they perked up, “and I don’t mean by barging in there. We should consult someone in the woodland areas, Arunika perhaps.”

Effron made a face as if he was about to say something, scowled, and stuffed a piece of bread into his mouth. Afafrenfere raised an eyebrow to him and Effron just waved him off.

“Or we could,” Drizzt mused, “hunt down that group of goblins you all tried to find yesterday.” The dwarves moved to speak in outrage but Drizzt silenced them again with a raised hand, “They may be slaves to the drow, we could beat some information out of them, and if they don’t know anything we can kill them.”

Artemis blinked at him in surprise, “Have you stopped listening to yourself when you talk?”

“They’re goblins,” Drizzt argued, “violence is the only language they know.”

The dwarves, Athrogate in particular, nodded in agreement, but Artemis was not convinced. As a group they resolved to scour the forest for the goblin troop and if they came up empty they would consult Arunika the following morning. Effron continued to make an uncomfortable face and bite his lower lip for the latter portion of the conversation, but just shook his head and said nothing when the others asked him about it.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Dahila rattled the door handle for the fifth time despite knowing that it would not turn, growling in frustration. A strong hand pounded back on the door and a gruff voice barked at her to simmer down or she would be punished.

“I am not a prisoner,” Dahlia shouted back, “let me out!”

There was no response.

Dahlia set to pacing about the room grumbling to herself. She’d known it was a trap and had fallen for it anyway. She tugged at her short, bristled hair, remembering her mistake in Luskan that had nearly gotten her killed. This was somehow worse. She couldn’t quite place how, but the dreadful feeling in her stomach told her that it was. She growled in frustration, kicking a stray cushion and sending it flying across the room into a mirror. The mirror fell from its spot on the wall and crashed to the floor.

“Pretentious piece of garbage anyway,” she spat at the pieces of twinkling glass.

The longer she was stuck in that gaudily furnished prison the angrier she became; grinding her teeth until her jaw ached, clenching her fists until her nails dug red lines in her palms. Eventually, she couldn’t take it anymore, took up her staff and stormed toward the door. She slammed the butt of the staff into the wood near the door handle with all her strength. It splintered but stubbornly held.

After a few solid blows something else caught her attention.

“Miss! Miss, wait!” A voice, echoing and distant called to her, “Don’t do that!”

Dahlia whirled around trying to find the source of the offending noise. Nothing was apparent, and after a few sweeps of the room she was forced to call out, “Hello? Is someone there?”

“Up here,” the voice called, drawing Dahlia’s eye to a spot near the ceiling. A small metal grate caught the light near the top of a cabinet.

Dahlia collected a chair and tried to peer through the gaps in the vent, but all she could see was blackness, broken by the occasional streak of light from a nearby room. “Hello?” she called.

“Shh,” a voice hissed, “Not so loud.” It was slight voice, high pitched and little nasal, “Someone might hear.”

“Who are you? _Where_ are you?”

“I’m Glenda,” the voice replied, “And, I can’t say. I just wanted to tell you to stop pounding on the door. You’ll break it.”

Dahlia rolled her eyes with a snort, “That was the idea.”

Glenda made a noise, “The last girl that kicked her door in, tripped a magic ward. The door exploded and killed her.”

The elf felt a pit open up in her stomach and the warmth drain from her face. “Thank you for warning me then. But how do I get out of here?”

“Unless you can figure out the lock, you have to wait for someone to let you out. And even then, you won’t be able to leave this wing.”

Flustered, Dahlia snorted, “ _Why?_ ”

“They don’t like upstarts here. They want women that can take orders without complaint or argument. They put the ones they know will cause trouble in this wing, knowing that they can’t get out and they keep them here till they break or kill themselves.”

That set the elf back on her heels, but one word in particular stood out to her, “Wait. _Women?_ As in _just women?_ ”

“Yes,” Glenda’s voice took a sad tone, “They take the desperate, or the toss-aways and break the ones that fight until they’re submissive and then give them… well they call them ‘orders’. And if you reject them, they send you back here or kill you.”

Dahlia didn’t like the sound of that. “I have to find a way out of here.”

“Don’t say that too loudly. They’ll beat you. If you fight, they’ll take your things, the food out of the store they put in each room, and just let you starve.”

The elf sighed and sank against the wall, “So I have to just wait?”

“It looks that way. Don’t worry. They’ll let you into the hallway soon, miss.”

Dahlia sank further down the wall until she was sitting in the chair,  “Fantastic,” she grumbled, scowling at the pale, empty spot on the wall, speckled with reflected light from the broken mirror, “just fantastic.”

-0-0-0-0-0-

It was vile creature, gaunt and yellow-skinned, its wide, bloodshot eyes rolling in its head, ultimately focusing on its target. Its mouth dripped with blood and black bits of muscle and splinters of bone torn form the leg of the small, elfin girl at its feet; a girl that just barely made it out of being a meal. One wiry hand reached for him, the other swung a glowing silver sword.

Without thinking he raised and arm to block the blade, hoping to send it bouncing off the black plates of his armor, but slipped past and he forced to catch the sliver with his bare hand or have his heart pierced. Searing, nauseating, pain erupted where silver met flesh. The creature’s deformed face coiled into a grin and it twisted, calling on the enchantment in the blade engulfing the silver in white flames and blistering his arm.

He pulled back, quick-stepping over the soft soil of recently-tilled farmland, but not quick enough, the creature took hold of his neck with its free hand, screaming something hateful in its garbled, coughing language right in his face.

As the nails dug in, his vision went black; his thoughts scattered and drowned out by the weight of a presence in his mind. A face, once soft and feminine, now reduced to little more than white leather over bone stared at him, black eyes, lit with tiny pins of light, held him in place. Bared teeth and cracked lips mouthed something to him. A threat, he knew, but he could not make out the words.

Razlaould woke with a start, nearly disrupting his meditating colleague with the noise.  He relaxed once he got his bearings. Removing his glove, he checked the wound in his hand, it hadn’t swollen or changed since he’d iced it, but hurt as if it were fresh.

“Problem?” Tel’Kashir asked, white eyes open and trained on him.

Razlaould straightened, shaking his tentacled head, “No. Just thinking a bit too hard.” The joke earned him a coughing laugh from his colleague. It was a common enough phrase used to imply a self-imposed block of creativity or boredom with a chosen subject, though not many thought it amusing.

“We may have to leave soon,” Tel’Kashir said, “The primordial is close to freedom. If it breaks we would have to flee.”

“The Elder equipped us for such an occasion,” Razlaould chided, pulling the small amulet from his pocket and showing it to the other illthid, “There is no need to be paranoid.”

“And yet, you are worried,” his colleague replied, “I can feel the anxiety coming off you in waves.”

“That is unrelated,” Razlaould replied, immediately regretting the word-choice. “I am unconcerned with the status of the primordial, we are protected, we know the warning signs, and we have a task to accomplish.”

“Then what worries you?”

“An old matter, unrelated,” Razlaould snipped at him, “It does not concern you.”

“You sound…angry,” Tel’Kashir rose, closing the gap between them, “Defensive.”

“I am not defensive.”

“That is a defensive response.”

Razlaould tried to hide his frustration with a deep breath, “I have had enough of this. It does not concern-“

“This is about that injury is it not?” the other interrupted, not about to be dismissed, “Remind me of how you acquired such an injury. Sometime during your martial training, before your reassignment?”

Razlaould narrowed his eyes, “Is that what this is about? Who assigned you to this task again? Was it the Elder to aid me or one of the Enforcers to spy on me?” When the other didn’t answer, Razlaould’s tentacles flexed angrily, “I am not a lab rat and I do not need to be monitored or questioned about my past. Leave it be, Tel’Kashir.”

The other, unsatisfied with that answer, was ready to raise an argument when a knock came to the door, “The primordial chamber is empty for now,” Kimmuriel called through the door, “If investigation interests you.”

“This is not over,” Tel’Kashir warned.

Razlaould left without a word.

The two illithids followed their drow employer through the winding outskirts of the Gauntlgrym complex in complete silence.  When they arrived at the small alcove just above the primordial chamber a few guards paced below them, but the crowd that normally resided there was gone.

_You said it was empty_ Tel’Kashir accused.

“It was when I left,” Kimmuriel shrugged, “They must have just posted the guard.”

The chamber was much as it had been a few days ago, save for a few new scorch marks and heavy water damage. The flaming creature trapped in the whirlpool roared, the sound rumbling against the walls. The water twisted and dented, relenting under the force of the ancient being, bolstering and pushing it back down before it could break through.

_This is dangerous,_ Tel’Kashir observed, focusing the comment on Razlaould, _It could go at any moment._

_I doubt that._ Razlaould responded. _But if you are so worried we could go down there and use the Elder’s magic to dampen it now instead of when we were instructed._

_I did not mean that we should disobey the orders, and I am certainly not going down there; do you not have a girl for that sort of thing?_

_Therein lies the rub of sending for the slaves so late. She is not here yet._ Razlaould replied. _I told you we should have brought them when we left._

_I was not expecting to be here so long_.

Razlaould nearly argued that they had not been there long at all; two months was nothing compared to the five year stint that preceded them or the six before that, or the seven before that. He decided against it. Tel’Kashir was already too close for comfort, just looking for a whiff on insolence or abnormality.

Best to quiet any discontent for now.

-0-0-0-0-0-

He could hear the sound of the rest of his companions moving through the forest even after he’d splintered away from them. The tracks had been easy to spot for a trained eye, and lead what would be a purposefully deceiving path for something of goblin intelligence. The camp was a fair distance away, mostly hidden in a crevice between some fallen trees. Drizzt could make out the grunting tones of their speech, calm and unaware, as he drew close. Briefly he considered summoning Guenhwyvar, and normally he would have to intimidate the tiny creatures, but not this day.

This day, he was threat enough.

Drizzt paused; slightly alarmed at the thought and the tone his thoughts had taken. Yes, they were goblins, but something in him was _excited_ about confronting them, about waiting for them to resist in a way that made him uncomfortable. Part of him wanted to stay back, wait for one of his companions to come and aid him in the interrogation, but the part was not loud enough to sway him.

He almost felt like a visitor in his own body as he approached the goblin encampment. The small, filthy creatures rose, defensive as they noticed him, demanding what he wanted and threating to kill him if he didn’t step back in broken common.

He was supposed to ask them about Gauntlgrym. He was supposed to ask if they were slaves of the drow there on surface patrol, demand answers with force if they didn’t provide them.

That’s what he had told his allies the plan was.

Instead, he drew his blade, smirk widening to a dangerous grin on his face.

One goblin, thinking it could sacrifice itself for the others rushed him.

Drizzt’s vision went dark.

-0-0-0-0-0-

An impact just between his shoulder blades knocked him from his feet and left him gasping on the ground for several moments. Artemis managed to prop himself up on his elbow and reach over his shoulder to check the wound, only to find there wasn’t one. There was nothing, no nick, no bruise, no arrow.

Shaky, the assassin stood, sucking in deep breaths and scanning the forest for his attacker. A pale shape darted between two trees and without a second thought he took off after it.

The leaves tried to pull his feet from under him, and rogue roots tried to trip him up as he chased the vaguely humanoid shape through the forest.  The assassin drew his dagger, ready to throw at the first chance. He came to a small clearing, marred by fallen, rotting trees. A bit of movement caught his eye and he nearly loosed the dagger, only to see that it was Drizzt, leaning against one of the trees wiping blood from one of his swords.

“Artemis?” He said, voice lilting in an almost cheery way, “I thought you were taking a different route.”

“Something attacked me,” Artemis said, sheathing his dagger, “I pursued. What happened to you?”

“I found the goblins,” the ranger replied, “I tried to reason with them, even offered to let them go, but they attacked me. I was forced to kill them.”

The human could smell the coppery blood on the air, mixed with something else: a bitterness lingering like powder in the air. “Oh,” Artemis drew closer, “I see you are not injured.”

“They were but goblins,” Drizzt laughed, sweeping past him, “Let’s go, we should find the others and tell them to stop searching.”

Artemis caught his eye as Drizzt passed, there was something wrong. The look in his eye, the faint fiery glow hidden the unnatural lavender hue. It took Artemis a moment to recognize it as the same look Drizzt had gotten in Gauntlgrym when he tried to kill Dahlia and had nearly killed the assassin alongside her.

The Hunter, Drizzt had called it.

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” Artemis asked, keeping a few paces’ distance.

“I’ve never felt better.”

-0-0-0-0-0-

The rest of their companions didn’t notice anything off about the ranger as they returned. Ambergris and Athrogate chided him and pushed him around for not letting them in on the goblin beat-down, but ultimately forgave him. Effron was too busy explaining something to Afafrenfere that left the monk with the same surprised, slightly uncomfortable look the warlock and worn that morning. Artemis resolved to ask them about it once Do’Urden was back to normal. It wasn’t until nightfall that the assassin finally got Drizzt alone long enough to talk to him.

“You seem off today,” Artemis mentioned, shutting the door and playing it off like it was nothing. “Like you are still feverish.”

The ranger was stripping out of his armor as he responded, “I don’t feel feverish, but you are free to check if you are worried.”

“You don’t sound like yourself,” Artemis said flatly. “You are behaving strangely, do you not notice?”

Drizzt held out his arms, “I don’t know any other way to behave, Artemis. I feel better, I’m not acting like I’m sick because of it, if that is what you’re noticing.” He stretched, popping his neck, “Come now, relax, you seem so,” he closed the gap between them, reaching for the assassin, “tense.”

Artemis’s jaw clenched, “Don’t-“

The drow retracted his hand, hurt look flashing across his face, “Oh? Artemis, honestly. You’re being overly cautious. Relax a little,” He settled in closer, pinning Artemis to the door, their bodies nearly pressed together, “come to bed. Please?”

A soft puff of air against an exposed portion of his neck fogged the human’s thoughts momentarily and his guard fell. The drow slipped in closer, deftly undoing the laces in his armor, and buckle of his belt, breath hot and lips barely brushing the pale skin below the human’s jaw.

He wasn’t hostile, but Artemis was still wary, reluctant to part with his weapons. Drizzt made a soft, hurt little noise and relented, “What’s wrong? I thought you enjoyed an aggressive advance.”

He sounded a bit more like himself this time.

The ranger pressed a slow, sweet kiss to the human’s mouth, trying to coax him, convince him that everything was fine. When Artemis didn’t fight, Drizzt pressed in harder, renewing his attempted advance. A fog settled in the assassin’s brain again, and this time it took him longer to recover. When he did, his armor and belt were some distance away.

Warm, nimble fingers snaked beneath the hem of his shirt and Artemis pushed him away, “What are you doing?”

“We’ve been lovers for how long? Can I not initiate things?” Drizzt furrowed his brow, confused.

His eyes were still glowing.

“You are not yourself,” Artemis said, more to himself than to Drizzt.

A hand combed through his short hair, Drizzt was watching him closely, face soft and sympathetic. A familiar expression on the drow made strange by the persistent fire in his eyes, “Artemis,” he whispered, voice almost pleading, “don’t push me away.” The hand slid from his hair down his neck to dip beneath the collar of his shirt, “Please.” Drizzt kissed him again, deeper and hungrier this time.

Conflicted and frustrated, Artemis kissed him back. He didn’t want to push Drizzt away, but the ranger was not himself. The drow bit at his lip and dug short nails into his skin, and Artemis felt his thoughts blurring and it was becoming more and more difficult to fight it off. With an angry growl, Artemis pressed against the ranger, pulling them away from the door before, spinning a slamming the elf to the solid stone of the wall beside the doorframe.

Drizzt made a soft, encouraging noise, shifting his hands and scratching pink lines into the skin of the human’s hip. Artemis bit his lip, hard enough to draw blood as only pulled closer, the drow returning the bite at the edge of his collar.

They stayed, pressed to the wall tormenting each other with scratches, growls, and sharp bites, until each act of aggression was alternated with a slow rocking of hips or a fervent kiss. At some point beyond Artemis’s recollection their shirts had been discarded and laces had been pulled loose in leather. The hand at those laces sliding temptingly close to skin. He pressed his forehead to the cool stone above the drow’s shoulder as calloused fingers brushed against him. Drizzt gave a dark laugh at the sharp breath the assassin took at the contact.

He tangled a hand in the elf’s long hair and tugged nearly knocking his head against the wall and exposing the tender skin of his throat. Artemis bit hard, but knew no matter what he did he wouldn’t be able to leave a mark. He took the soft, breathy sound Drizzt made as a vengeful victory for the laugh.

They pulled away from the wall, still tangled in each other in a fit of bites, scratches, and deep kisses, making their way across the room to where their bed rolls were set up.  Artemis pinned the ranger to the worn blankets by his wrists. He pulled back, breathing deeply and trying to collect himself. But Drizzt wouldn’t let him, leaning in to lick and nip at his skin, and when that failed he just settled for shifting persuasively beneath the human until he finally gave in.

It was louder than it probably should have been for the two men in the neighboring room not to hear, and nearly too rough to be fun. Artemis was almost ashamed of himself as he collapsed beside the drow, chest burning from the exertion, skin warm, and limbs numb. Drizzt made a soft, contented noise beside him, avoiding any more contact with the too-hot skin of his bedmate.

Artemis ignored the request for space, rolling onto his side, and pressing a warm hand to the drow’s cheek, angling him to face him. The ranger made an unhappy noise at the contact, but Entreri didn’t care, “Look at me,” he ordered. Another unhappy noise, and Artemis dug the pad of his thumb into the ranger’s cheekbone, “Open your eyes.”

A lavender eye cracked open, hooded and dark, the glow slowly fading as it drifted shut again. The elf’s breathing deepened and he was lost to sleep.

The human let him go, falling back against his pillow, letting the air wick the heat from his skin. He stared at the ceiling watching the shadows move for a bit, but his eye was drawn back to the sleeping elf. He was falling apart, quickly, but Artemis was still in the dark about the details. The thought of going to the other members of their group for aid crossed his mind, but he rejected it. What little the drow had told him, it had been in confidence, and the last thing he need to do was break that barely-there trust and push him away. Eventually Drizzt would fall apart enough to tell him the truth.

He hoped.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Dahlia woke still groggy to a commotion in the room beside her: doors slamming things knocked off walls and broken and the occasional order of “show yourself,” and “Come out,” in deep, angry tones. She rose from her bed quickly, dashing to the wall and pressing her ear to it to listen, but she was too late. All she managed to catch were stomping footsteps and a single sharp _bang_ of a slammed door. She waited a while, hearing the footsteps pause at her room and then pass as well as the sound of a heavy door opening not-too-far away. Then, silence.

A silence that grew heavier as what had happened began to dawn on her.

Concerned, Dahlia retrieved her chair and brought it to the vent. The streaks of light were gone. “Glenda?” She whispered sharply, “Glenda can you hear me?”

There was no answer.

Dahlia waited a bit longer, tense, before calling again.

Still, no answer.


	9. Worry

Smell was the first sense to return to him; dust, dirt, and pine needles hidden under pungent sweat and sex that left a bitter taste in his mouth, and something else, something familiar. He tried to get closer but sore muscles were reluctant to respond. It took him a bit, but he recognized it as Artemis. Sandalwood, he’d called it, to remind him of home. Pain came next.  A hot pressure behind his eyes that threatened to split his skull in two, followed by several smaller points of pain and a dull ache in his lower back. He felt the familiar burn of scratches and bites on his skin and a subtle looseness his muscles. He couldn’t hear anything in particular aside from an occasional shifting of fabric or the creak of old furniture. A cool breeze brushed his skin, and he longed for the strength to move. After a concerted effort, though, he managed to crack an eye open and survey his surroundings.

It was dark, and feather-light ball of panic filled his chest and throat as his eye adjusted to the gloom. They were back at the temple. Artemis was beside him. Some squinting and Drizzt could make out the dark splotchy bruises about his skin. Drizzt tried to shift from his stomach to his side, but his limbs failed him.

He tried to piece together the events that brought him to that spot on the floor. He remembered Artemis roughly shaking him awake and grumbling something about being a night person and not waking up at such an early hour, much less be responsible for waking someone else. He recalled dressing and collecting his gear, joining the group for breakfast, but try as he might he couldn’t remember the conversation they’d had only that it ended with Artemis being angry with him. After that was a blur; the forest, the crunch of leaves beneath his feet, the metallic smell of blood. And then, nothing. He furrowed his brow despite the pain but couldn’t remember. All he could hear was laughter where the memory should be.

_Talk your way out of this one without him turning on you._

The voice was louder now, right in his ear instead of over his shoulder. He tried to block it out but it kept laughing and taunting Drizzt with the idea that Artemis would turn on him. _Stop,_ he thought back, trying to get a moment of silence, _I don’t know what you want, but just stop. He’s not going to turn on me._

_Oh, I’d forgotten you believed him when he lied to you. Doesn’t really matter though. I mean, he could be dead right now for all you know. Problem solved for both of us._

The panic in chest magnified, and he cracked his eye open again. He watched the assassin looking for signs of life, but couldn’t make them out through blurry vision. The ranger tried to focus the emotion into the energy to move, but couldn’t manage it and wound up making a soft, scared, and frustrated noise. He closed his eye again, trying to calm himself through deep breaths and persistent reassurance. _He isn’t dead,_ he told himself, _the voice isn’t real. You’re fine. The shock of magic had weird effects on everyone. That’s probably what caused you to lose time. It’s okay. It’ll be okay. You’re fine._

_Oh, you’re pathetic._

Drizzt kept up his mantra, trying to drown out the voice in his ear. He made another soft noise.

A gentle hand brushed against his hair a few times and then gently shook his shoulder, “Drizzt?”

Relief washed over him like wave breaking on the shore at the sound of Artemis’s low voice, rough with sleep. The sheer force of the emotion shook him and all he wanted to do was curl up close to the human as it passed, but it hurt to even open his eyes. He trembled a bit, trying not to lose the tenuous hold he had on his composure. Not that he had the strength to do anything if he lost it.

The hand returned to his hair, soothing, gentle strokes across the strands, not through them. “Hey,” the soft voice whispered, “you coming around?”

He tried to enunciate around the rocks in mouth, but wound up not making much more than a strangely articulated moan. A few breaths and he tried again, “What happened? I feel like I fell out of a tree.”

“You don’t remember?”

Drizzt wanted to put his thoughts into words, but lacked the energy. Instead he just tried to articulate them in a single worried, pained, and sad noise.

He felt the assassin brush his hair out of the way and press a warm hand to the back of his neck. “You weren’t acting like yourself. And I don’t mean a ‘you were out of sorts’ way. You were acting like someone else.” There was pause and hand on the back of his neck gave a rough squeeze. “You want to explain that or should I come to my own conclusions?”

The ranger heard the chaotic grating noise again and tried to drown in out, “I don’t how to explain it. I don’t know what it was,” he whimpered, “Honestly, Artemis, I don’t know what got into me. Maybe I’m deathly ill and don’t realize it. I feel sick.” The room began to spin and Drizzt buried his face in his pillow, the pounding in his head intensified. He couldn’t stop the pained groan in his throat or the shiver that racked his frame.

Artemis leaned back a bit, letting his hand slide to the drow’s shoulder. The dark skin threatened to burn his palm, and the ranger was barely articulate. A knot of worry constricted his chest, Drizzt hadn’t been lying about not knowing which was even more cause for concern. With a gentle rub to the tense muscle beneath his fingers, Artemis rose and collected a skin of water. He poured a bit on his hand, and pressed it to the drow’s forehead.  The ranger groaned again and leaned into the touch. “Sit up,” Artemis whispered, tugging at him, “drink some, it’ll help.”

Drizzt made another noise that closely resembled words, paused, and said, “I can’t move.”

The assassin considered moving him for a moment but rejected the idea. Instead, he settled back down, gentle hand working at taut muscle beneath the dark skin of Drizzt’s neck until the ranger calmed and his breathing deepened with sleep. Hopefully he would be in better condition when he woke again. The human laughed at himself, hoping. He’d been doing a lot of that lately, and it was starting to annoy him.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Drizzt woke again to sunshine and the ability to move. His head still hurt a bit and his limbs were still disobedient. A nearby skin of water was a gift; he sat up and drank deeply until the dry burn in his throat abated, leaving him coughing.

“Don’t drown,” Artemis’s voice teased. “I see you’re feeling better.”

“A bit,” Drizzt said, voice clear, “Still weird, but better.” He took a deep, steadying breath, the weight of Artemis’s gaze bearing down on him. The ranger kept trying to avoid eye contact as they dressed; occasionally he chanced a look at the assassin, but winced at the splotchy bruises and bright red scratches on his skin. He could feel them on his own as well, but knew they were less noticeable. As much as he wanted to remember the events of the day before, part of him didn’t want to remember the night. “I’m sorry,” he said, before he could stop himself.

Artemis turned to him, surprised. “For what?”

Drizzt wasn’t sure how to answer. For everything? For the entire day before this one? His behavior, his lying, his being secretive, or even his reluctance to trust Artemis with something that had obviously been effecting him almost as long as it had been effecting Drizzt himself?

The human didn’t let him struggle with the choices for long, “For not upholding your end of the agreement we made?”

Drizzt raised an eyebrow at him, not sure what the human was talking about.

“The one in Port Llast?” Artemis explained, tone even, “Where you said you weren’t using me as a crutch and that I could trust you more than anyone else because you wouldn’t hurt me even if I deserved to _die_?” He slung his cloak over his shoulder and made for the door, “You know, the way I justify sharing a bed with you at night.”

Drizzt’s heart sank and his throat closed when he tried to speak. He felt as though he’d been struck.  “Artemis, I-“

The assassin shook his head and left the room, obviously not wanting to hear anything Drizzt might have to say in defense.

_And you didn’t believe me._

“Artemis…” Drizzt whispered at the door.

When he finally came out, Artemis was sitting with the group as if the exchange had never happened. They were deciding who should go and consult Arunika while the rest of them stayed behind and gathered supplies for the inevitable hike into Gauntlgrym. Effron wanted nothing to do with the venture, and the dwarves, weary of magic refused to go as well. Artemis offered to go, since he knew the way and was friendly with Arunika, and the group seemed to like that idea.

“I’ll be back by nightfall.”

“I’ll go with you,” Drizzt said. Foolish as it was, Drizzt didn’t like the idea of Artemis going to see Arunika alone. The assassin shot him a curious look, and he hastily added, “Last time you were there, you said Jarlaxle was with her, gods forbid you two end up alone in a room together.”

_Let him go._ The voice was laughing at him, _Let them kill each other. He obviously doesn’t want you around, you liar._

“Fine,” Artemis said, accepting the reason, “Let’s go.”

_Maybe he’ll try to put you out of your misery. Or you could put him out of his._

_Stop it,_ Drizzt thought back, _Shut up._

The voice laughed again.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Maybe she was the girl in the hallway, this “Glenda” person, and maybe Dahlia had imagined her. Perhaps she had been addled by being thrown into a room she couldn’t get out of and made up the whole little conversation as a way to placate her anger. She laughed at herself, she wasn’t that crazy, and she didn’t know anyone who was. Glenda was real, and something had happened to her. Dahlia hadn’t heard any screaming, so she doubted the girl was dead or injured, she hadn’t heard any signs of a struggle either, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t poisoned her and carried her off.

She slammed her fist down on a crumpled patch of blankets at her hip with an angry noise. She had to find out what happened, and she had to get out of this godforsaken room.

But what if what Glenda said was true? Exploding doors weren’t entirely uncommon, and she knew no way of disarming the trap.

A clinking caught her ear. The lock on her door shook and rattled in its housing. Dahlia sat up, watching it move and bracing herself for anything, but after several moments nothing happened.

The lock stopped rattling.

She listened, her elfin hearing giving her enough of an edge to listen into the hallway without pressing her ear directly to the door. There was grating, metal on metal and loud _thunk_ of wood, a smattering of light footsteps, almost beyond her hearing and several soft _clicks._ After, the thud of heavy boots came down the hallway, a few doors banged open, and boots retreated the way they came.

Dahlia sat back down on her bed, confused and more than a little anxious.

What was going on out there?

-0-0-0-0-0-

Kimmuriel wasn’t sure how to approach the creature, but knew it was worth a try. Normally, he only spoke to them on business matters, the progress of their study, any information they could give him on the Sundering, and he always spoke to them as a pair. But, when he managed to catch one of them alone he couldn’t pass up the opportunity.

“I hope I am not interrupting,” he greeted as the illithid set down a small notebook and stylus on piece of carved stone in the more ruined part of the complex.

The creature turned to face him, _No, ask your questions._

_You have come to study the primordial,_ the drow transitioned to telepathy, feeling silly talking aloud and not receiving a spoken response, _I would hazard to think that you have taken the necessary precautions in the event of its release. May I ask what those precautions are?_

_Why do you desire to know?_ The creature asked, slipping its hands into its pockets, _Is the Xorlarrin acting out again?_

Kimmuriel sighed, relaxing, _No, I am more concerned with the changes in magic, should it fail, I would like to know my allies are safe._

The creature pulled an amulet out of its pocket and held it up for Kimmuriel to see, _We have taken such precautions, this little disk has enough power to dampen the primordial long enough for the cage to be reset. Given that it could be reset._

The drow raised his eyebrows and blinked, scrutinizing the amulet, _How does it have such power?_

There was a brief pause, _It doubles as a brain-mate. A piece of the Elder, and thus has a portion of the Elder’s might. It is not much, but it is something. Like I said it is only temporary._

The drow furrowed his brow, he was relatively familiar with the idea of brain-mates; securing little trinkets that allowed the illithids to feel as if they were still close to their Elders even on long journeys. All the ones he was familiar with though were worn against the skin, close, so as not to be stolen and its aura always in contact. He was about to raise a question on the matter, when the illithid’s companion joined it.

He watched as the two spoke to each other, all waving tentacles and tense stances. The Oblodra knew better than to intervene in whatever argument they were having. He ducked away, leaving the two to their discussion.

-0-0-0-0-0-

He could feel eyes on him as he trekked beside the drow along the forest path. Watching, and waiting. It made him nervous, almost jumpy. A few times he though he caught the pale shape from the day before in the corner of his vision, only to turn and find it not really there. He shook his head, nearly laughing at himself for his paranoia. Then he remembered the pain of impact, and stopped laughing.

Trying to distract himself from his own weirdness, he focused on Drizzt. Artemis was unsure where to go next. Drizzt was still hiding from him, still lying; only he was fraying with every attempt the assassin made. Even though he wasn’t spilling his heart out at Entreri, the words exchanged that morning seemed to be having an effect on the ranger: he was giving Artemis a wide berth, avoiding eye contact, and not starting conversation. He was focused on the road ahead, but would occasionally spare a glance at Entreri, forlorn and guilty. Part of him wanted to break the silence and the tension, start the conversation and make amends, if anything, to stop the ranger from giving him that look. But he resisted. It was a waiting game he had to endure.

Drizzt’s mannerisms were changing. He spent less time entranced by the forest and more time with his eyes on the road. He would occasionally mouth something to himself or whisper with a regularity that alarmed Artemis. He could make out the words “stop” and “enough” among the whispers, but not much more.

They arrived at Arunika’s cabin sometime in the middle of the afternoon, after several wrong turns and dead ends. She was standing on the stoop patiently awaiting them, and smiled widely as they approached, only to have the smile fall after a moment. “This is an uncomfortable silence,” she observed.

Neither man responded to the observation. Drizzt was the first to speak, “We’ve come for some insight about the goings on in Gauntlgrym. What can you tell us?”

She came down the steps, “Not much I’m afraid. My magic doesn’t take me down their often and I have no reason to go myself. I hear the primordial roar on occasion, but other than that…” she shrugged.

“What about the magic two days ago?” Artemis asked, “Know anything about that?”

The woman thought for a moment, “No, not really. There have been several minor hiccups lately, and that one was by far the biggest, second only to the prophecies disappearing.” She made a face, “The next one will probably be worse.” She looked between the two of them; giving Artemis a soft look, and Drizzt a worried one, “Be careful, whatever you do. And I wouldn’t recommend you straying far from each other.”

Artemis scowled at her. “That was helpful.”

“I’m going on instinct, not specifics,” she quipped, “I’d like to see you do what I do.”

Entreri scoffed at her.

“Is there anything you _can_ aid us with?” Drizzt pleaded, “We need something to go on here.”

Arunika pursed her lips and tucked a rogue strand of hair behind her ear. “Yes, actually, there is,” she said after a moment, “Tiago Baenre. You still seek information about him?”

The two men nodded.

“He has left Neverwinter for lands more southern. I’m not sure where exactly but I’m pretty sure he is following the rumors of a bandit on the outskirts of Waterdeep. I am not sure why, but I think it has something to do with a falling out he’s had with Jarlaxle. If that is any help.”

Drizzt perked up, “It is, thank you. Is there anything else?”

The woman shook her head, “I apologize, Drizzt, I’ve been dedicating my magic to prepare for the next hiccup in magic, not looking into the present and future. Although, I’ve noticed that my abilities to see into the future have been stunted, so I may not have been of much help either way.”

The men, frustrated at having wasted a day, said their farewells and headed back to Neverwinter.

“I am sorry to have wasted your time,” Drizzt said halfway through their trek.

Artemis shrugged, “It was worth the attempt and we acquired some useful information on Tiago. I wonder who that bandit is though. Dahlia, maybe?”

“Perhaps, but that isn’t what I meant,” Drizzt replied. “I meant, with all this. Everything. I am beginning to regret approaching you in Port Llast at all and dragging you into this.”

“Don’t talk such rot,” the assassin sighed, “You don’t mean that.”

“No, I do,” the ranger stopped, “I know what happens to people when they’re around me for too long, I used to drive Cat crazy. Catti-brie Battlehammer, one of the most patient women I have ever met, I used to drive up a wall. I knew it was bound to happen here too, I just, don’t play well with others,” he laughed softly, “I guess I’ve grown so used to being on my own the thought of someone else helping me is… foreign. Even with my old companions, much less people like you who are the farthest thing from paragons of selflessness.”

Artemis made a face. “Not exactly the confession I was expecting,” he said, “but it’s something, I guess.”

Drizzt sighed, “I guess, I’ve always thought that if something terrible happened to me, and no one else knew,” he looked away, trying to gather courage, “If no one knew, I wouldn’t drag anyone else down with me. I don’t want to pretend to be selfless, but I do not want to be anyone else’s burden either. Enough people have been hurt or killed because of my actions and mistakes, and I’m sick of it. I’m sick of being a cause and not a solution.”

The assassin’s gaze softened and whatever anger he may have still been holding for the ranger waned, “If there is anything I have learned in my dealings with the strange dark elves that have so flagrantly waltzed into my life,” he gave Drizzt a very pointed look, “it is that there are some monsters that are too much for a single man to fight alone.”

The drow gave him a sad smile and stepped a bit closer, “I can agree with that, but how does one gather allies to fight an enemy none of them can see?”

Artemis pulled him into a lose hug. Drizzt only lasted a few moments before clinging tightly to him, trying with everything he had in him not to let go. “What is going on, Drizzt? What is happening to you?”

“I don’t know anymore,” he whimpered, his voice quaking with emotion “I don’t know how to explain it; I don’t know how to fix it. I just _don’t know.”_

The human didn’t push him further.

-0-0-0-0-0-

When Hugo had finally left to collect their supplies after responding to Entreri’s note, Effron breathed a sigh of relief. He collapsed against his bedroll with a soft grunt, and earn a trio of concerned looks for the motion, “What?” he asked, unnerved by the stares.

They all shook their heads at him dismissively.

“So,” Ambergris said to the group, “who wants to start this discussion.”

“What discussion?” Afafrenfere asked, taking a spot on the bedroll beside Effron, “Are we planning your wedding because I’ve told you already: rocks are not a proper decorative material.”

Ambergris narrowed her eyes, “Okay: one, no there is no wedding, ya priss, two, the discussion about Do’Urden’s weird behavior these last few days an’ Entreri’s inability to control him, and three, yes they are don’t give me any of that nonsense.”

“Metals maybe but-“

“Aff,” Effron interrupted, “shut up for a second.” He turned his attention to the cleric “What do you mean ‘weird behavior’?”

“Ye know, yesterday.” She explained, “He was acting a little funny. I like the guy, he’s grown on me and I’ve never had an ill wish against him, but I swear at one point durin’ supper I wanted to punch him in the teeth.” She blinked a few times, trying to sort it out in her own head, “I don’t understand it.”

“That is odd,” Effron nodded his agreement.

Athrogate snorted, “An’ don’t be forgettin’ Entreri. I’ve never seen the man look so off-put, and I’ve seen him in a room with Jarlaxle. Eating. Take me word for it that was a sight to behold.”

“And yet they slept together,” Afafrenfere scoffed, earning his own round of odd looks. “What? I was up late, doing some meditation and I heard them.” Wide eyes all around, “In their defense, it sounded _fantastic._ ” And with that, the group dismissed him. “Oh come on, guys, it’s a legitimate observation.”

“He has a point,” Effron argued, “but then again, Artemis has shown himself to be weak in that regard, he did sleep with Dahlia afterall.”

Athrogate waved his finger at Effron, agreeing, “Yeah, he’s got a soft spot for crazies, had a girl in Vaasa that would make that Harkle character look sane. So Artemis is kinda bad to go on.”

Ambergris relented, “Alright, what do we do then? We know they’re gonna be on the same side, whatever side that is, and I dun want this to be turnin’ into an us versus them sort of thing. I want us all on the same page and I don’t want to feel the urge to punch a man like Drizzt in the face ever again. Dun sit right with me.”

“Something’ll happen that they won’t be able to hide at some point,” Effron offered, “Until then, we can’t really pry. They’re very private men. Hells, if it hadn’t been for you, Amber we probably wouldn’t know that Drizzt and Artemis were even a thing until well after Ashenglade.”

Athrogate nodded. “He’s right. Jarlaxle had to pretty much screw up the guy’s head just to get any sort of emotion or whatever out o’ Artemis. Ye ask, ye pry, he ain’t gonna budge. Ye either gotta force it out of ‘im, or let him come to you. I got no doubt that Drizzt is the same way.”

The cleric sighed and plopped down on the floor, “So what? We just let them implode? You don’t do anything to help ‘em until it’s too late and hope we can pick up the pieces? Are you kidding me?” The rest of the group shook their heads and she laid flat tugging at her beard in frustration, “Maybe we could just beat it out of ‘em.”

Afafrenfere kicked the sole of her boot and sent her sliding a few feet, “Come on, Amber, we’re not those people anymore and you know it. They’re our friends, we have to handle this with care.”

“They _will_ tell us in time,” Effron said reassuring the group with his conviction, “I know it.”

“Then ye know more than the rest of us, kid.” Athrogate snorted. “Why don’t ye confront ‘im about it.”

Effron blanched, the change almost unnoticeable on his pale skin.

-0-0-0-0-0-

The rattling at her door returned late that night. Or, at least, she thought it was night. One of the curses of being underground with no sense of time. She could have been in there for hours or even for days.

The rattling in the lock was more fervent this time, quicker. Dahlia thought she heard voices whispering on the other side of the wall, but couldn’t be sure even when she pressed her ear to the chipping paint and wood. There was no grating this time, no other noise but the lock.

She collected her weapon, breaking it into staves and readying herself for anything. Dahlia wound up standing that way for much longer than she thought she would have to if a guard was taking a lock to the door. Then again, it had taken Conrad several minutes to get it open when he brought her here.

Eventually the door swung open and Dahlia cocked her arm to strike, only to lower her arm seconds later, confused.

“They let you keep a weapon?” her visitor said, surprised, “That’s new.”


	10. Conrad's Door

She was slight; short with small, round ears exposing her human heritage. She had a straight, prominent nose and thick, dark brows that should not have suited her tan face as well as they did. Tattoos of red circles stood out on her skin, three under each eye and one large, swirling shape on her forehead just above the space in her brow. Dark hair was pulled back into several small, thin braids down the back of her head and neck, two stood out from the herd at her temples stopped at the ends with small, wooden beads that swung noticeably as she shifted her weight. She pursed her full lips and furrowed her brow, “They let you keep a weapon? That’s new.”

Dahlia relaxed her stance, seeing no threat in the girl in the doorway, “Who are you?”

A bright smile exposing straight, white teeth, “Talim,” she said, “I’m bunked across the hall.” She gestured about the room with her small hands, “Glenda said you were trying to break the door in, so we agreed to help you out a little early.”

“’We?’” Dahlia asked.

“Come outside,” Talim turned to allow Dahlia to pass, “Meet the rest of your neighbors.”

Two other women loitered in the hallway, waiting for Talim to bring out the newest member of their little gang of prisoners. One was another human, fair skinned and copper haired, and nearly as tall as the doorframe, her tunic ripped in the places it didn’t fit properly. The other was elfin , a slight golden hue to her skin, exposed arms decorated in black ink between the elbow and shoulder, she was the shortest of them, underweight, but otherwise just as healthy-looking as the rest of them.

“Hello?” Dahlia said, unsure what to make of the situation.

“She’s cute,” the large human sneered, “Probably came here willingly.”

Dahlia scrunched up her face, “I was told this was a guild. Does one not join guilds willingly?”

The other two women laughed at her, Talim shook her head, “This isn’t a guild, and Conrad is not a guildmaster. I don’t know what he told you, but it was a lie.”

“I’d figured as much,” Dahlia sighed, “What is this place then? A prison? Slave trade?”

“Parts slave trade, parts prostitution, all Conrad’s institution toward putting women in their place,” the other elf chimed in.

Dahlia blinked as if slapped in the face, “ _What?_ ”

“Yep,” the tall human nodded, “he lays on the charm thick at first. You’d see it eventually though. When he gets bored with ya.”

With a sigh, Dahlia hung her head and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“You slept with him didn’t you?” the other elf asked. When Dahlia nodded reluctantly, she chuckled, “Me too.”

“I want” Dahlia said slowly, “to hit things. Preferably things that work here. How do we get out of here?”

The trio laughed again.

“Good luck,” Talim said pointing over her shoulder to the end of the hall.

A huge piece of metal blocked off the corridor, no visible hinges or latches. Scratches and scuffs marred the wall and the door, from previous attempts to escape. A few boards had been torn from the wall and floor revealing the stone underneath. Dahlia scowled, pressing a hand to the door, there was magic there, she couldn’t place what kind but it was absolutely teeming with the stuff.

“That is impressive,” she said finally, at a loss. “I assume it can’t just be blown or pried open?”

“You try to blow it open, it trips the magic,” Talim explained, “Kills everything in the hall. And it’s too heavy and firmly in place to pry open.”

“Damn,” Dahlia breathed. The other women nodded in agreement.

“We’ve been trying to figure out for weeks,” the large human replied, pulling back her curly copper hair and tying it off, “Ever since Glenda and Talim managed to get the doors open without the extra keys.”

“They lock again when you close them though,” Talim confessed, “I can’t seem to keep them permanently open.” She lowered her voice, “Rin, I thought we said we weren’t going to talk about…” she gestured emphatically, “until the guards stopped barging in and sniffing around.”

Rin chewed her lip, “Oh yeah.”

“They can hear us?” Dahlia asked.

Talim nodded, “Sometimes, if they want to listen. “

Dahlia turned her attention to the larger human, “Rin?” she asked.

“Short for Catherine,” she nodded, “And this is Sasani.” The elf beside her nodded.

“You have a name?” Talim inquired.

“Not anymore,” Dahlia replied, “and the one I had isn’t important.”

-0-0-0-0-0-

The sun was still high and what little of the city was still populated was bustling when the two men arrived at the edge of the forest. Artemis ran a hand through his hair with a disgruntled noise, “Perhaps we should wait for nightfall. It’ll be easier to sneak in then.”

Drizzt made a face, “We could sneak in now? Between us we could almost get in anywhere, even in broad daylight.”

Artemis settled into the space between two roots of a tree. “Yes, I know,” he replied, “But they will want to bombard us about our decision about Gauntlgrym and given that we have no information we have no choice but to go on an expedition. I don’t know about you but I am not keen on listening to two dwarves prattle on about how many dark elves they’re going to bludgeon.”

Drizzt plopped down beside him, “I suppose you’re right.”

They sat in silence for a while, watching the day flow by from the safety of the shade. Clouds loomed overhead making an empty threat of rainfall, and the wind picked up as the afternoon began to wane. Artemis was less concerned with the nature, however, and more concerned with his companion, who was still whispering to himself occasionally, and not quite acting like himself. “You know,” he said, offering the ranger a distraction from whatever may have been going on in his head, “I have to admit, this hero business is a lot more boring than I initially thought.”

For a moment, almost too quick to catch, relief flashed across Drizzt’s face. “You won’t be saying that when you have to beat an ancient evil into submission.”

“As long as there’s useful stuff in the treasure this time,” Artemis joked, “I’m tired of getting paid in flutes, or not paid at all.”

They shared a short laugh.

“Is that all you think about?” Drizzt asked, almost sincere, “Money?”

“Money, booze, useful gear,” the assassin chuckled, “What most people want out of questing and heroism, you know, beside glory.”

The ranger playfully punched him on the shoulder. “You’re such a cynic,” he teased. They exchanged a few playful punches, trying to muffle childish laughter. After a bit, they calmed again, Drizzt settling in closer to the human. “You know,” he said softly, “you remind me of my father sometimes.”

“Son-“ Artemis began, putting on his best stern-father voice, only to be smacked on the chest before he could finish the joke.

“I’m being serious,” Drizzt said, “You do, sometimes. He was a perfectionist. He tried really hard to be cynical and uncaring, but he couldn’t always maintain it. His heart was cold, but it was in the right place. When you tried to stop me from killing Dahlia in Gauntlgrym… I almost thought you were him.”

“Wait,” Artemis said, “Did your father happen to know Jarlaxle?”

“Why?”

“Jarlaxle used to talk about someone with that name; Zak, Zaknafein,” Artemis explained, “He used to talk about him a lot when we were travelling. Even made comparisons between me and him sometimes. I didn’t know he was your father.”

Drizzt gave him a sad smile, “Yes, they knew each other. Jarlaxle said they were friends.” Artemis started laughing, but Drizzt could hear the pain there.

“Jarlaxle said he and I were friend too,” the assassin said after a few moments, “and look what he did to me. I can’t imagine what he would have done to your father.”

Drizzt sighed, and rested his cheek on the human’s shoulder, “I don’t like to think about it.”

There was reverent silence that followed, as though the one thought of whatever betrayal Jarlaxle had enacted hundreds of years ago on another man he’d claimed was his friend was somehow insulting to that man’s memory. Artemis hadn’t even known the weapon’s master, and still he felt the silence appropriate, if for Drizzt than anything else. “He spoke highly of him,” the human said, remembering why he’d sparked conversation in the first place, “he was a man worthy of respect. In a weird way, I’m a little honored to be compared to him. He cultivated you, he must have been a great man.”

Artemis couldn’t see his face, but he heard the sniffle at his shoulder, “When we were travelling together, Jarlaxle, Bruenor, and myself, Jarlaxle told me that if he was the type to believe in reincarnation, he’d swear you were him.” A soft, humorless scoff, “He’s wrong, but I like the sentiment. That I have a piece of my father whipping me into shape and keeping an eye on me even though he’s gone.” Another scoff that turned into a short burst of laughter, “Although if that _were_ true our relationship could be considered a little incestuous.”

“I thought your people didn’t frown too harshly on incest,” Artemis teased. Drizzt smacked him across the back of the head.

Their conversation was cut short by a noise not too far away. At first they couldn’t quite tell what it was, but as it drew closer they could discern the woeful shrieks of Valindra Shadowmantle approaching them. The two men rose, taking that as their cue to leave, and jogged toward the city in the light of setting sun.

Then the shouts drew closer and they had to break out into a full sprint to get away.

-0-0-0-0-0-

The swirling blaze was almost hypnotizing, and every time Ravel looked into it over the edge of his dead brother’s notebook he found it harder and harder to look away. He hunted through Brack’thal’s notes on the primordial for something, some way to counteract the freedom it was gaining, but so far nothing. Useless mage. Ravel was glad he was dead, but right now he would do just about anything for his wisdom concerning the ancient magicks.

The thing of fire was growing bolder now that its prison was weakening. Offshoots of flame snaked through in a hiss of steam and slammed against the stone menacingly. Ravel had tried to reset the prison they way Tiago had when he tempted the creature with freedom to cause the earthquakes, but that had only exacerbated the problem. Now, the spellspinner couldn’t think of anything short of setting it free and letting the water elementals start over. But the creature was vengeful now, enraged, and would probably sweep through the complex before anything could be done about it and all would be lost.

Ravel tossed the small notebook into the blaze in a fit of frustration. “ _Vith_ ,” he cursed, running a hand over his face. This was not what he had signed up for. The dark elf rose and paced in a tight circle cursing at himself. The priestesses hadn’t been of any help, Kimmuriel was threatening him to fix the problem and would blame him if something happened, even if it was beyond his control. He kicked a small stone across the floor.

This was bad.

He’d have to evacuate the complex soon if he couldn’t come up with a plan, Kimmuriel’s wrath or no. He sighed heavily and cast his eyes to the ceiling, trying to drown out anxious thoughts with the roaring of the primordial. A shadow moved at the corner of his vision, Ravel turned to look at it, squinting to try and make it out, but as soon as he blinked it was gone.

A spy?

Well, let them spy. Better an intruder figure out a plan and get in to stop it, than Ravel hunt them down and be without options. He could always hunt them down later when the crisis was averted.

_If_ the crisis was averted, he corrected himself and kicked another stone.

-0-0-0-0-0-

“They’re gonna be back soon,” Athrogate grumbled, “Ye ready to talk to ‘im?”

Effron shifted in his seat. He wasn’t thrilled with the idea of confronting Drizzt about his behavior. He’d heard Drizzt’s story, he knew what the drow was capable of when cornered. Reluctant, he nodded, knowing he wouldn’t have much of a choice in the matter.

Before anymore could be said, a side door opened. The four instinctively went for their weapons, only to drop them when Drizzt and Artemis stumbled in, breathless. They shut the door behind them and stood, leaning forward, catching their breath.

“Shadowmantle,” Artemis panted, “came up on us in the Wood. Had to run to get away.” He leaned forward; giving up on talking in favor of regulating is air intake.

“Arunika didn’t know anything about the earthquakes,” Drizzt said when he recovered, “but she did say that Tiago was no longer in Gauntlgrym. So we won’t have to worry about anyone actively hunting for us.”

“Well, _you_ ” Artemis chimed in.

Ambergris clapped her hands solidly. “Looks like we’re going in,” she laughed, “Get to bed early, gentlemen. We’re leaving before dawn, and we won’t come back til some drow heads get busted.”

“Ha!” Artemis laughed loudly, pointing at Ambergris, but looking at Drizzt. The ranger just rolled his eyes. The rest of the group gave him funny looks, but the human didn’t elaborate on the outburst.

As a group they discussed the plan to infiltrate Gauntlgrym, Drizzt and Artemis suggesting the same passages they’d used to get out of ruin after the destruction of Charon’s Claw. With luck, they wouldn’t draw much attention to themselves and would be able to observe the primordial chamber from a safe distance, collect what information they could, and leave silently to come up with a plan of action to solve the earthquake problem.

When they broke to take an early rest, Effron took the opportunity to approach Drizzt and Artemis. “Do you have a second?” he asked, and both men turned to regard him. “Artemis,” he clarified.

A pair of confused looks and raised eyebrows, but Artemis just shrugged, agreed, and stepped off to the side with Effron, telling Drizzt he’d catch up. “What is it, Effron?” the assassin asked when they were alone, doing nothing to hide the pang of annoyance in his voice.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed,” Effron said, still a bit nervous around the assassin. Even though they’d been travelling together for months, they weren’t exactly friendly, and Drizzt normally served as a protective buffer between them, “that Drizzt isn’t behaving like himself. The rest of the group is starting to worry.”

Artemis nodded, but didn’t elaborate.

“Well?”

“Well what?” The assassin said, “You want an explanation? I don’t have one for you. He’s been losing some sleep, spiking fevers, getting headaches. I think he might be legitimately ill, but he’s too stubborn and we’re too busy to let him rest. Hells, there might be even more than that going on, but I wouldn’t know because getting that man to talk about what ails him is like trying to get blood from stone.”

Effron wanted to respond, wanted to use the knowledge that the assassin and the ranger were lovers against the man to pull answers, but he knew that a ploy like that would only get him punched in the face, or worse. So, he let it go. A curt nod and he broke the conversation with the assassin, letting the man go on his way and just not _stare_ at him anymore. The warlock wondered what Drizzt saw in the man. He could hold eye contact with the guy for more than a few seconds without growing nervous. He couldn’t imagine sleeping beside him or-

Effron shuddered, not wanting to think about what those two did behind a locked door, but his brain had other ideas.

“Something the matter?” Afafrenfere chided, as he approached.

The warlock shook his horned head, trying to dislodge the thought, “I have no idea how Drizzt can stand sleeping with that guy, I just can’t wrap my head around it.”

“ _I can_.”

“What?”

“Huh?” Afafrenfere stopped following Entreri’s progress to his room and turned to face Effron’s accusatory stare. “So, anyway, did you find out anything?”

Effron continued side-eyeing the monk as he answered, “Nothing we didn’t already know about, no. However, Artemis did imply that there could be something worse going on that we should look out for.”

Afafrenfere nodded, expecting as much.

“Are you…” Effron wasn’t sure if he wanted the answer, “Are you attracted to Entreri?”

“What?” Afafrenfere laughed, but a slight twinge of pink edged onto his face, “Nonsense.”

“You _are._ ” The warlock couldn’t hide the shock on his face.

“If you heard the things I did last night, you would think about it too,” the monk defended, “I’m only human, don’t judge me.”

“Oh, I’m judging you.”

-0-0-0-0-0-

Dahlia tapped the door with her staff. “It only opens from the outside,” she mused, “There has to be a way out there. What if one of the guards were to get trapped in here?”

“They’d send someone to get him,” Sasani replied, “Or leave him to die.”

Dahlia puffed a breath out of her nose. “Are there guards on the immediate other side of this door? I didn’t see any when I came down.”

The three other women shrugged and shook their heads, “We didn’t see any either, but they could be on control.”

“Glen-“ Rin began, stopping short at a sharp look from Talim, “The other, said the most guards are in the parts of the house that get the most business. Places like this don’t need a whole lot of protection.”

She groaned softly, tapping her staff against the floor. “There’s got-“ Dahlia tapped Kozah’s Needle on the floor sharply. The wood panels cracked. She did it again, and, after a few strikes she’d made a pretty sizeable hole in the floor. Only to see stone beneath a few layers of wood panels. “Damn,” she hissed.

“Walls are the same way too,” Sasani told her before Dahlia could start hacking away at them.

Dahlia sat on the floor, temporarily defeated, “I guess this is why they didn’t take my gear,” she mused. “There has to be away.” She turned to Talim, “How did you get the rest of the doors open? Just picking the locks?”

She nodded, “Yeah, I had to more or less take the one to my room apart to figure it out. They’re complex locks.” Dahlia tried to ask another question, but Talim stopped her, “Already did a sweep of the rooms, they’re identical, save for minor details. Nothing useful.”

“When do the guards come by to restock the food stores?”

“Once a week,” the rogue replied, “but they won’t come in if they have reason to believe we’re out and about.”

“Let’s face it,” Rin sighed, “we either comply, or stay here.” She shrugged, “It’s not so bad.”

Dahlia laid back, tracing the cracks in the ceiling with her eyes, “He won’t let us just stay here forever. It’s nice now, but it will steadily get worse until we break or get ourselves killed. Slavers aren’t the most patient of men.”

A defeated silence settled around them. “Why us?” Dahlia asked, more to the ceiling than to any of the other women.

“You’re strong,” A voice said, “Conrad doesn’t like that.”

Dahlia rolled onto her stomach and looked for the owner of the voice. “You’re-“ the girl that had watched her arrive with Conrad stood, leaning against one of the doors, “You must be Glenda.”

The girl nodded. She was younger up close, barely more than a child. “Yes, and you must be Conrad’s newest pet project.” Her smile was sad, distant, “He collects people like you. They’re toys to him, not worth time, or effort, but valuable in coin. Women are dolls, primped and polished and meant to be played with, not taken seriously.” She sighed, “At least, that’s how he worded it.”

“Why-“ Dahlia was still having a hard time wrapping her head around how someone so young could find herself in a place like this, “How did you get here?”

“I was in another wing,” she said, “I ran from it when I found out what Conrad was. The guards don’t linger here, it’s the safest place to hide.”

“Why didn’t you let the others out when you came?” Dahlia felt a twinge of anger. All these women could have been freed already.

“I was the first one here,” she replied, “After they rebuilt the hall from the last idiot that tried to break down a door got herself blown up. The others followed, and once you’re in, it’s hard to get out.”

A thudding of measured footfalls sounded from outside the door. The same ones Dahlia had heard the previous day. The five women scrambled, darting back to their rooms and relocking their doors. Dahlia hesitated at hers, wondering where the young girl would hide herself.

For a moment she entertained the idea of taking out the guards on her own.

“Don’t-“ Talim hissed at her, leaning through her door just before shutting it, “I know what you’re planning, don’t do it.” Dahlia tried to argue, but the rogue shook her head, “If you attack they’ll trip the wards in the door, all of us will die.”

Not liking any of her options, Dahlia chewed her lip, but ultimately shut her door.


	11. Personal Investment

_You are a pitiful creature._

It was so loud, so clear, it jarred Drizzt from a sound sleep, alarmed at the thought that someone had managed to sneak up on him and say something in his ear. He lifted his head from his pillow, scanning the room only to see that there was nothing there, but, when he strained to listen; he could hear the crackling of flames and that grating, dissonant laughter.

He settled back down, sliding a bit closer to Artemis as he did so.

_He’s not going to be able to help you. It fascinates me why you keep turning to him._

Drizzt flinched at the sharp bites in the voice’s tone. It was growing bolder, more scornful and vindictive as it grew louder. The ranger tried to drown it out with his own thoughts reassuring himself that it was all in his mind, the voice wasn’t real, and that Artemis had been able to help him before, why wouldn’t he be able to this time? The voice just kept laughing and snipping at him, and Drizzt slid in closer to the human beside him. Eventually, Drizzt found himself resting his head on Artemis’s chest, straining to hear the soothing thrum on his heartbeat, but he couldn’t make it out. His chest tightened, his throat tried to close, and every breath was shaky as his nerves were frayed to their limits. The urge to wake his bedmate crossed his mind, but he couldn’t will himself to move. So, he just lay there, trying in vain to hear over the noise in his head, silently wishing for relief that would not come.

_Aw, getting to be too much for you, is it? Just let go. Stop prolonging the inevitable._

The ranger tensed, trying to block out the noise, but something caught his attention, _Inevitable?_ He couldn’t stop himself from thinking, _What’s inevitable?_

The voice only laughed.

-0-0-0-0-0-

He felt the shift next to him; a slight change in the air heralded by soft whispers and sharp breaths, a kicking up of dust and dirt that still littered the floor, and a movement in the shadows. His bedmate curled up closer to him and he felt a twinge somewhere near his heart, reminded of that morning when he woke to a panicked ranger worrying about whether or not Artemis was still alive.

Still half asleep and running on instinct, he placed a protective hand on the ranger’s shoulder. The man beside him flinched at the contact, but he persisted and eventually Drizzt calmed enough to accept the touch.

He was trembling, muscles tight, as if he’d been out in the cold and the rain for hours; there was even a chill to his skin. Artemis, with a little finagling, pulled the blankets up around him punctuated with a soft rub to the shoulder.

It was jarring to see someone as stoic and collected as Drizzt Do’Urden curled so tightly and shaking in the middle of the night. Artemis found wakefulness to be more of a curse than a blessing, the more alert he became, the more he noticed and the more he worried. The man had dealt with his share of loons in the past, the type that take their problems out on others with no reason as to why; hell, he’d even slept with some of them, but this…

This was different somehow.

Something in him stirred, calmed him a little. He knew it to be part of his survival instinct: the need to withdraw. He wanted to leave, to just be gone, to pack up his things and go right back to Calimport and what he knew and never look back. Let the others put up with Do’Urden and his crazy. He had enough burdens as it was.

The ranger made a soft noise, almost a word but the inflection was strange. Artemis’s sleep-addled brain took a moment to realize that it had been in Drizzt’s native language. The assassin listened and Drizzt made the noise again, but longer and broken. He repeated it under his breath and eventually Artemis could translate it.

_Stop, I beg you, what do you want from me?_

Over and over again.

Artemis wrapped his arm tightly around the ranger, pulling him closer. Drizzt started, as if rudely awakened, and made a confused noise before settling back in. The human ran through a very short list of things he could do to make any sort of difference in the situation. A short list made entirely of terrible options.

“Artemis?” Drizzt whispered into the darkness, his voice shaking as much as his body was. He made a noise like he was about to say something else but decided not to. He buried his face in the blankets, but still kept a sharply pointed ear pressed to the human’s chest.

He wanted to say something. His first instinct was to push the drow away; back him into a corner and get the information out of him. Then, he remembered what Drizzt was like when backed into a corner and knew that was a fight he didn’t want to be a part of. The urge to say something comforting replaced it, to calm the drow and try to get him on more stable footing, but words didn’t come to him. It was a struggle, figuring out the easiest way to comfort someone in such fear one had no power to stop.

Before he realized what he was doing, Artemis had started to hum a slow, sad song from his youth. He could hear it in his head in a sweet familiar voice, but for some reason the words were lost to him. Drizzt started to relax, so he hummed a little louder, and, with time, the drow was still and calmed.

He was about to start up again when the drow’s voice stopped him short, “What is that?”

“Hmm?”

“That song,” he clarified, “what is it?”

Artemis thought for a minute, but the name escaped him, “I can’t remember, but… my mother used to sing it to me when I was little. It wasn’t often, but it always helped.”

“It’s pretty,” the drow sighed, sleep slurring his words. His breathing deepened.

Artemis felt himself relax alongside the elf. The drow was a bomb precariously close to detonation and Entreri wasn’t sure how much longer he could take the stress.

Morning came all too quickly and the assassin was done.

“You need to tell me what’s happening,” he told Drizzt as they dressed; Enteri made sure to place himself between the drow and the door, barring escape. “And you need to tell me now. I can keep doing this dance with you anymore. Drizzt, please, after all that’s happened these last few months, I’ve got to mean something to you.”

Drizzt blinked at him. He probably would have looked less surprised if Artemis had just out right slapped him, “Artemis, I don-“

“Don’t you even think of dismissing me,” the human growled, “You dismiss me again, I’m in the wind. I will pack my gear, go to Luskan, and be _gone_. Do’Urden, I can see it in your face, you are falling apart, and I will be _damned_ if I let you fall on me.” He sighed, “I know, I said I wouldn’t abandon you, and if we’re being honest, I’ve invested too much in this to want to, but you aren’t leaving me with a lot of options.”

“I wasn’t going to dismiss you,” Drizzt said, a sullen crease in his brow, “I don’t want you to be angry with me. I think…” He took a deep, steadying breath, “I think something is seriously wrong with me. I don’t… I can’t place how it started, or even how it got this bad.”

“What is it?” Artemis pressed, closing the gap between them, but still keeping his distance.

“I’m coming apart at the seams,” Drizzt confessed, “I thought I could keep it together but it feels like something is… actively pulling out every stitch that keeps me together. It feels… as though something has taken hold of a thread and is pulling and pulling until I’ve unraveled completely.” He took a shaky breath, “And I don’t know what that thing is.”

A sharp knock at the door interrupted them, “Get a move on, guys,” Ambergris called, “we’ve got to get out of Neverwinter before the people start buzzin’”

Artemis took hold of Drizzt’s arm, “There’s something you aren’t telling me.”

“There is too much to tell for the time we have,” Drizzt confessed, “Tonight, once we have a plan to help the people of Neverwinter, I swear, I will tell you everything.”

“Tell me _now._ ”

Drizzt’s look changed from mild worry, to a desperate sadness, “I…” he took a step in closer, “Artemis, helping these people, or, at least, attempting to is one of the few things still holding me together. Please, let’s go and get what we need out of Gauntlgrym, let’s not make these people wait in fear any longer than we already have.” When Artemis still refused to let go, Drizzt made a soft, pleading noise, “Please. Artemis, I promise, when we get back-“

The hand on Drizzt’s arm moved to his shoulder, “I’m going to hold you to that,” Entreri warned.

“I know,” he almost sounded relieved, “I know.”

-0-0-0-0-0-

The guards busted in to every room in the hallway. Every time they unlocked a door and slammed it open dangerously, they shouted about a runaway, a missing girl, and gave a curt description; short, dark hair, freckled skin, before rifling through the rooms themselves, breaking things, knocking over furniture and man-handling the women that occupied those rooms. For the ones without inmates furniture was broken and torn into. Dahlia’s room as no exception; and the guards, large burly apes of men, sneered and snarled at her as they left, and then laughed when she didn’t move against them.

Once the guards were gone, door long sealed behind them, the familiar rattling at her door returned. Dahlia tapped her foot impatiently as Talim unlocked her door, and the moment she was free she stormed into the hallway. In a fit of anger she slammed the staff down on the piece of stone she’d exposed earlier, not wanting to blow more holes in the paneling and risk punishment. A rent formed in the grey rock, splintering a bit, but revealing that the only thing beneath the stone floor was, in fact, more stone.

She made an angrily, growling noise and plopped down on the floor.

“You must be a hoot at parties,” Sasani laughed, but stopped when Dahlia shot her an angry look.

Glenda was the last to join the group, sneaking out of one of the open doors. Dahlia made a face and sat up, “How did they not find you?” she asked. Glenda just smiled and said it was a trick Talim had set up. Dahlia cast a wary look at Talim, before asking for an explanation.

“Old trick I heard about in Luskan,” the human explained, “If a room has no hiding places that aren’t obvious, making a new one.” She led Dahlia into the room Glenda had been hiding in. “It takes a while to set up, but it’s pretty genius.” She pulled back the rumpled blankets, exposing the bed beneath, and then pulled back the covering on the bed to reveal a small hole cut into the mattress, just large enough to accommodate the girl. “Rumor was that Artemis Entreri used a similar trick to pull one over on a guy called Morik the Rogue way back before the Spellplague.”

Dahlia’s grip tightened around her staff at the mention of the name, and the bright smile on Talim’s face made the elf want to punch her, but she swallowed the urge.

She didn’t explain the trick out loud but with some elaborate pointing and gesturing she managed to show that the beds were too heavy to move, and when the blankets were pulled back, no one would notice the hole. It didn’t show up under the bed either, so the guards were never the wiser.

“Eventually they’ll find her,” Dahlia said, unable to hide her pessimism.

“Eventually they’ll kill all of us by your logic,” Talim shot back.

Dahlia rolled her eyes and took a spot leaning against the wall, watching the door. The other women joked that it wasn’t going to be opened just from her staring at it, but she paid them little mind.

“What happened to your face,” Rin said, a bit louder than Dahlia would have liked.

The elf turned on her, scowling with her good eye, “None of your business,” she growled.

The large woman laughed, “That may be, but at least I got your attention.

Dahlia sighed, and turned to face the group as they attempted to engage her in conversation. They talked about their lives and things they’d had to leave behind. Talim spoke of the thieves’ guild that betrayed her, Rin of her father’s business lost in a fire. Sasani’s story rang very similar to Dahlia’s drawn in by charm and the promise of work. They spoke of family and friends and how all three lacked in both and how that was probably how they ended up there. Occasionally Dahlia would chime in, but she always kept her answers curt, and vague.

It was after an hour of idle conversation that Dahlia realized that Glenda hadn’t contributed at all. She just sat between Rin and Talim expression growing steadily more uncomfortable until she ultimately started to cry.

“Glen?” Rin asked, pulling the girl close. “Glen, honey, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to die here,” she whimpered, diving into Rin’s hug, “I don’t want any of us to die here. Not after all this.”

“No one is going to die,” Dahlia said firmly. “Well, none of us anyway.”

Glenda seemed comforted by Dahlia’s tone, “You can’t know that. You don’t know what they do here.”

“Enlighten me,” she replied.

The girl set her jaw and furrowed her brow, “This place, is Conrad’s way of insuring that women stay inferior. He believes that the only things they are good for are pleasing men and bearing children. He takes the interesting ones and locks them in cages until the bend to his will. He buys them off the street and threatens them with starvation and disease if they do not obey his orders. And those orders? Always the ‘women’s work’: scrub the floor, cook the meals, undress. He doesn’t care for age, he doesn’t care if you’re sick, if you’re scared, if you’re bleeding. And don’t you dare cry, because he will, as he put it, ‘give you something right and proper to cry about.’”

Dahlia felt sick.

Glenda settled back into her seat, “You guys are the lucky ones. He doesn’t care about you yet. He hasn’t found places for you yet. Sometimes I wonder why I hide from them anymore, because I know I’ve caused too much of a problem to be put back in what he’s called the ‘Concubines’ Hall’” She sniffled, “We’re all going to die here, because it is the only fate left. We stay, he has us killed when we don’t break. We escape, they’ll overpower us. There is no victory here.”

The other three women stared at the girl, concerned. Dahlia leaned forward in her spot. “How did you end up here?”

“My father sold me to pay off his debts to Conrad. I’ve known him since I was very small.”

“You are still small.” Rin said.

“In stature maybe,” Dahlia said. “But you’ve been forced to grow.”

Glenda said nothing.

“We all maintained hope about getting out of here once we found ourselves in the hallway. But that hope fades,” Sasani chimed in, “With every day that passes in relative isolation that hope fades.”

The other women added nothing, but their faces fell. They’d been trapped in that hallway for what felt like ages to them, unable to count the days waiting for the moment they were moved or executed in some horrible way. And this girl, this little girl who could not have been much older than Dahlia had been when Herzo Alegni tried to decide her purpose for her, had already experienced the alternative to death, and preferred to die.

And angry knot clenched her stomach so tightly she thought she might vomit.

She would kill Conrad, not for the freedom of any of these women, perhaps not even for her own freedom.

But on principle.

-0-0-0-0-0-

“Sir?” The apprentice nervously poked his head in the door, “I have the rest of that list you asked for.”

Draygo Quick stopped his conversation with the Shifter long enough to cross his office to the door. He scowled at the young mage for daring to interrupt, but did not reprimand him for the intrusion. “You are dismissed,” he said sharply when the boy continued to look at him expectantly. The apprentice skittered away without a sound.

The Shifter perked up in her spot on the edge of his desk as Draygo returned “Is that what I think it is? The rest of the Chosen have been named? No more speculation?”

The old warlock nodded, unfolding the parchment, “Let’s see what our little investment has yielded.” He scanned the page, stopping close to the bottom, and raising his eyebrows. “This is interesting,” he said. He continued down the list and furrowed his brow, “Most interesting.” After a few moments he held out the parchment to the woman. “Look about a third of the way up from the end. What do you see?”

She did as she was instructed, never actually reaching for the parchment, just having it appear in her hands, “This isn’t a surprise I mean-“

“Now the third from the bottom.”

Her eyes widened, “Wait- What does that even mean?” she scrunched up her face.

“It doesn’t matter what it means,” Draygo took the parchment from her and rolled it up, “it just means that we need to not screw this up all the more. Are you prepared?”

“Yes,” she said, concerned look refusing to leave her face, “I’m ready. When do you want to set out?”

“Go without me for now,” Draygo said, “We don’t want another botched operation. I want every scrap of information you can get before we go.”

The Shifter nodded, hopping down from the desk. “Yes, Lord Quick,” she said flippantly, “I shall retrieve you when necessary.”

He scowled at her, but did not respond.

-0-0-0-0-0-

His head was pounding so hard he could feel it all the way to his throat. There was weight that had wedged itself behind his brow and it blurred his vision occasionally. He could feel the hairs on his arms standing on end, a chill in his limbs despite the burn in his head and neck. Even breathing took a concerted effort after a time, but he managed to keep it hidden from his occupied companions with a deep breath and a straightened spine whenever they happened to glance his way.

They arrived at the entrance to the Gauntlgrym tunnels around midmorning. Dark, heavy clouds loomed overhead and shadowed the landscape as much as nightfall would have. While the darkness eased their travel and granted them more places to hide, the distant rumble of thunder was not reassuring.

As they entered, Drizzt dropped the onyx figurine to summon Guenhwyvar and sent the panther off running ahead of them. He slung Taulmaril from his shoulder and readied it, offering to take up the rear. The dwarves, more than content to take up the front moved to do so, only to have Entreri cut ahead of them.

“This isn’t a raid,” Artemis said, “We’re here for information, not war.”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t shed a little blood along the way,” Drizzt quipped, despite himself. His chest tightened at the look Artemis gave him.

“I’ll take up the rear,” Artemis said slowly, walking past Drizzt. When he came up to his shoulder, Artemis dropped his voice low, “I want you where I can see you.”

Drizzt took a step up in the formation, taking a space beside and a little behind Effron. Afafrenfere took the point, followed closely by the dwarves.

Slowly, they made their way through the tunnels, trying to go as long as they could before being spotted. Drizzt managed to keep himself together for the most part, but slowly he started to slip. The weight in his head grew heavier and his vision darkened periodically. He tried taking several deep breaths through his nose to dislodge the fog behind his eyes.

All the breaths did was make him dizzy. In an attempt to distract himself he scanned the group, watching for out of place shadows. Briefly his eye caught Entreri’s and he saw a flash of concern in the human’s eyes.

_You could take them all out now. They wouldn’t be able to hover over you and box you in anymore._

The voice was whispering, as though it suspected Drizzt’s companions might hear.

_Hang back, Entreri will wait with you, and you can kill him quietly. The others would be none the wiser as you picked the off one by one._

_Stop,_ Drizzt thought back, _I’m not going to hurt my friends._

_These aren’t your friends_ , the voice laughed, grating and discordant like the female’s voice. _They’ll never be your friends either, remember? The Clavus Dun wanted you dead, on Effron’s order no less. They just want you to let your guard down so they can take you out. And let’s not forget Entreri._

_Artemis won’t hurt me,_ Drizzt thought back, feeling his lip curl in a snarl.

_He wants you to pour your heart out to him so he can use it against you. Just like he used Regis against you. Just like he used Dahlia’s madness against you, you think he didn’t have something to do with that? What do you think they were talking about on those nights they were alone together? The trade prices of timber?_

Drizzt squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and thought as hard and as loudly as he could, _I will not turn on my friends._

He could hear a rumble over his shoulder. At first he thought it was thunder, but then slowly began to make out Artemis’s voice. He leaned against the wall, his knuckles cracking as he forced them to release the hilt of his scimitar. He was breathing heavier than he remembered.

“Drizzt?”

_You think he loves you? That he even cares? You are pitiful, pathetic creature. A waste of perfectly good potential._

“I’m okay,” he breathed, but he smelled smoke and heard laughing. He looked at Artemis, “I’m okay, just…” for some reason he couldn’t finish the sentence.

The smoke choked him and blacked out his vision completely. He felt his jaw clench in anger, but couldn’t unclench it. He couldn’t breathe. Panic welled within him for a moment before everything fled him.

Everything but the laughter and crackle of burning wood.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Artemis felt the hairs on the back of his neck bristle before they even left the mouth of the cave. He knew the feeling well. Someone had eyes on him. His first thought was Jarlaxle scrying, but he shook that off. It was closer. He scanned the walls and caught a moving shadow near the ceiling, but realized after a moment that something was still watching him.

Eventually he looked over his shoulder and caught it, a pale shape, roughly human in size, backlit and obscured standing a way back in the tunnel. Artemis squinted but found he still couldn’t make out fine details, or any details at all, but he could feel it watching him, hostile.

He was about to address the group when he heard Ambergris made a soft, “Oof.” The group turned to her and she just shook her head and said, “It’s happenin’ again.”

There was a loud roaring down the tunnels and the thunder of footfalls. It was dangerous, but this would be their chance. A chance Afafrenfere and Athrogate were happy to take.

Artemis turned his attention to Drizzt. The drow was unsteady on his feet, head hanging low. The assassin watched as the ranger took deep breaths and leaned against the wall.

“Drizzt,” he called softly, approaching.

The ranger looked at him, lavender eyes glowing with a soft fire that was gone the next time he blinked. The drow released his tense grip on his sword, and smiled sadly, “I’m okay,” he said.

Artemis’s heart sank to the pit of his stomach at the words, and slurred flat tones they were spoken in. The elf had glazed over look in his eye, and though he’d turned to face the assassin, Drizzt wasn’t really looking at him. He felt his heart rate pick up, and his muscles tense, ready for anything.

“I’m okay,” the drow slurred again, “ju-“ he made a pained noise, like a cough stuck in his throat. He stared for a bit at point just over Entreri’s shoulder before making the noise again.

Drizzt swayed a bit and Artemis took a step forward. The drow’s eyes followed the motion, he made that disquieting choking noise, and they rolled back in his head. He collapsed, tense and coughing through clenched teeth and shaking too hard for Entreri to do anything but lower him to the ground when he caught him.

The fit was over as quickly as it had begun. When Artemis looked up the group was hovering around him, panther included, asking what had happened.

“He started acting strangely, when you said you felt another ripple in magic,” Artemis explained, feeling a fluttery numbness settle in his stomach, “but he was coming out of it and then…” he held out his hands helplessly at the now sleeping Do’Urden.

Ambergris knelt beside the drow and gave him a quick once over, “He’s feverish, but it doesn’t look like he’s injured, or even diseased. I gotta take a closer look to be sure though.”

“We should turn back,” Afafrenfere agreed, “get him well and then come back.”

Effron, to the surprise of everyone, didn’t agree, “Did you hear that roar? I think it might mean the primordial is close to freedom. If it’s one of the dark elves causing the problem it needs to be dealt with now before Neverwinter is leveled and an ancient creature made entirely of _fire and magic_ is loose to roam and destroy.” Athrogate raise a flail in agreement and Effron sighed, “I don’t like the idea of leaving him here, but Guenhwyvar kept him safe on the mountain for hours until Entreri went to get him, why can’t she watch him while we finish our-“

“I’m not leaving him,” Entreri snapped.

Ambergris agreed, “Something is seriously wrong, if he has another fit and no one’s here it could be worse.” She steeled her face against Athrogate’s scowl, “We take him back to Neverwinter and if the three of ye want to come back here and finish the mission without us, we won’t stop ye.”

Guenhwyvar took a place beside Entreri and pressed her nose to Drizzt’s forehead,  a sharp puff of air dislodging the shortened white strands trapped in the beads of sweat that had settled there.

“Go home, Guen,” Artemis said to the panther. The great cat growled at him, and he sighed, “We’ll do what we can, and I’ll bring you back.” That seemed to pacify the panther and she dissolved into mist.

Artemis collected the figurine and the group set to work figuring out how to get Drizzt back to Neverwinter without jarring him too much; eventually settling on using the drow’s cloak as stretcher and having the dwarves carry him.

The trek back to the city felt like it lasted forever. When they finally arrived the place was still bustling, trying to wrap up what they could before the storm rumbling in the distances was upon them. Entreri and Afafrenfere went ahead, making sure the way was clear of civilians, ultimately finding Hugo and recruiting him to keep people out of the path they’d laid out for the dwarves and their cargo.

The companions barely beat the storm rain drenching them as they entered the temple, lightening flashing white and purple in the sky.

Artemis, despite angry glares and other nonverbal complaints, was forced to wait outside while Ambergris checked Drizzt for poison, injury, and severe illness.

“I’m surprised,” Afafrenfere noted, “that you didn’t speak up about this sooner.”

“I wasn’t made aware of the severity,” Entreri replied flatly.

Ambergris rejoined the group with a forlorn look, “I got nothin’” she said, holding out her hands, “whatever it is, it ain’t somethin’ I can heal.”

Entreri grumbled something none of them caught and disappeared into the room.

The cleric watched him go, “It’s bad too. I couldn’t wake him.”

The other three companions looked to her, concerned. “We’ve got to figure something out,” Effron said. “The magic, the primordial, now Drizzt. They’re all connected, I can feel it.”

Athrogate snorted, “We’re gonna need more to go on than just yer gut, boy.”

“It’s the Sundering,” Effron said, “It has something to do with the Sundering, I know it, I just can’t prove it yet.”

Afafrenfere put a hand on the warlock’s good shoulder, “Eff, I believe you, you’re gut’s been right before, but it doesn’t help us do anything to fix it.”

Effron deflated, hanging his horned head, “I know.”

Ambergris sighed, “Us gettin’ stir-crazy’s not gonna help either. Let’s take a breather, and regroup in a few hours.”

The men weren’t opposed.

-0-0-0-0-0-

The panther walked around her drow in a tight circuit a few times before settling down beside him with a soft growl. She nudged his head with her nose, and puffed air in his face, but ultimately realized it was useless and rested her large head on his torso.

Artemis stripped off his soggy armor, changing into a dry set of clothing before rummaging in his bag for a bit. The strange Harpell character hadn’t been all bad, offering Entreri a new bottle of gold fire in apology for his discomfort the afternoon before the prophecies disappeared, and the assassin silently thanked him for it now. He leaned heavily against the wall with a disgruntled sigh and raised a hand to try and rub the stress away after a few swigs.

The assassin heard Effron pleading with the group outside and couldn’t help but agree with the theory that Drizzt’s deterioration had some connection with the Sundering, but it probably wasn’t as obvious as the boy might want to believe.

Entreri sighed, wondering how things had gotten so bad when something tugged on his sleeve.

Guenhwyvar tugged at his sleeve a few more times before Artemis let her guide him to the drow’s side. He leaned heavily against her flank, suddenly exhausted.

So much for that explanation he’d been promised.


	12. Fear

He watched the shadows move on the ceiling. His eyes burned, and the sound of rain pounding against the walls did nothing for his exhaustion. His energy tapped, his strength barely there, and faint throb had made itself obvious behind his eyes after a few moments of lying alone in the dark. Guenhwyvar had returned to her astral home, and Entreri was left alone with the still sleeping drow to wonder about where things would go next.

Drizzt couldn’t hide his illness anymore; everyone had seen the fit and had been involved in carrying the fallen elf back to their little hideout in the temple and there was no way Drizzt would be able to lie his way out of that.

But how did they solve this? Getting all the information out of Drizzt would be harder than pulling out a halfling’s teeth; and even if they did get all of the details, Ambergris had already discovered that magic didn’t work. Artemis breathed deeply. Perhaps they could go back to the dwarves, or that Harpell character, and give Drizzt a safe place to recover from the malady on his own, or at least be easily monitored as he declined. The assassin shook his head; Drizzt wouldn’t leave Neverwinter before the people were free from fear of the primordial. They’d have to forcefully remove the elf from the city, if they hoped to leave before then, sickness or no.

He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes until he saw stars and groaned in frustration. Why was he still here? Why was he so willing to put up with this whole situation? If anyone else in the world had tried to reel him in to this kind of insanity he would have been on the first boat to Calimport and yet here he was, on the floor beside one of the greatest causes of misery in his extended life, and he was hesitant to leave.

Artemis Entreri hesitant to leave the side of Drizzt Do’Urden.

He felt a little sick.

The longer he thought about it, the more nauseous he felt. Not only did he stay with the group despite all this nonsense, but he was still in bed with Do’Urden. He was still trying to figure out ways to help the elf even though Drizzt was resisting his efforts at almost every turn. He made a disgusted noise at the ceiling.

He might actually care about the idiot.

Entreri shuddered, sitting up and trying to rub the burn from his eyes to no avail. Gently, he shook the sleeping ranger by the shoulder. When he didn’t wake, Artemis pressed a hand to the elf’s face; his skin was cool. The assassin released a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding in a sigh of relief; at least the fever had broken.

It was a start.

A little dizzy and still tired, he rose. The assassin rubbed his temples in a last stitch effort to collect himself before he went out to rejoin the rest of the group and be bombarded with questions he still had no answers to. He took a deep, steadying breath, and ducked out of the room.

As it turned out, no amount of preparation could have left him ready for the expectant looks the others gave him. They stopped their conversation as soon as he came out and sat in dead silence for the entirety of his approach until he took a spot in their little circle. Artemis opted to stand, knowing that if he sat he probably wouldn’t get back up. The others clamored to their feet around him.

“Is he awake?” one of them asked, but Artemis’s brain couldn’t register whom.

“No,” he replied.

They asked him more questions but he could only answer in gestures and short phrases. Eventually, though, his thoughts cleared a little and eloquence returned.

“How are we going to get him out of here?” Ambergris was asking, more to the group than to any one person in particular, “It isn’t safe, and if he is as sick as we think he is ‘unsafe’ is a bad way to be.”

“We can wait until he wakes,” Afafrenfere supplied, “convince him to leave.”

“He isn’t going to,” Artemis cut in, “he told me that the attempt to save the people of Neverwinter was the only thing keeping him together. If he’s that dependent on the task were not going to get him to leave.”

The group returned their attention to him.

“What else has he told you?” Effron asked, doing nothing to hide the suspicion in his voice.

Artemis scowled at the warlock, “Nothing. He didn’t tell me anything useful.”

“Surprising,” Effron snorted, “so much so it’s hard to believe. You mean to tell us that after all that time you two have been spending alone doing gods know what, you haven’t gotten complaint of illness, any sign of trouble?”

“Yes,” Entreri deadpanned, squaring his shoulders and adjusting his stance, “I do. I’ve already told you what I know, and that was all from observation.”

The boy scowled, unflinching, right back at him; all those years of being browbeaten by Draygo finally paying off, “Observations _I_ could have made,” he shot back. “He must have said something to you, or at least you could have tried to get the information out of him.”

Something snapped in Entreri then.

“How dare you,” he growled, still maintaining enough rational thought to keep his voice low. “You haven’t the faintest idea of what I have been dealing with from that insufferably stoic bastard. I have spent days, no, _weeks_ doing _everything_ I could think of short of strapping him to a chair and beating him senseless to get information about his condition out of him.” He was closing the gap between them in slow, threatening strides, “And, given his upbringing, I sincerely doubt even that would work. I have tried threats, I have tried guilt, and sympathy, and things I would have never even _bothered_ with anyone else, and here I am just as confused as you are. Now listen here, boy, you can berate me for failing until the sun comes up, but don’t you _dare accuse me of not making an attempt._ ”

A force stopped his progress toward the retreating Effron. The assassin looked down to see Athrogate taking hold of his arm and holding him back. The rest of the group watching him confused and a little alarmed.

“Ye need some sleep,” Athrogate said, guiding the assassin away, “Ye always gave that look to Jarlaxle right before ye swung at him, and we dun need two people out cold.” The dwarf let the human go when he was an acceptable distance away from the warlock. “Go,” he commanded, “get some rest, or at least some air.”

The assassin took a deep breath, still staring daggers at Effron. Several tense moments passed, but eventually he turned sharply on his heel and left.

When he was gone Effron started breathing regularly again.

“Maybe we shouldn’t go around accusing the _assassin_ of things he might find _offensive?_ ” Afarenfere suggested sarcastically. Effron slapped him for it.

“Shut up.”

-0-0-0-0-0-

The dark elf was pacing around the edge of the primordial’s prison. An anxious air hung around him and Razlaould could feel it from the safety of his shadowed ledge. The spellspinner’s thoughts were a screaming, jumbled mess the illithid tasked himself with poking through.

Ravel was angry with his sisters. They refused to give him the aid he needed even though he had not asked for aid in the first place. There was the idea of a plot to let him plummet and take over the complex for themselves. It was plausible, but most likely just a paranoid thought of the dark elf.

He was disgusted with Tiago Baenre. The idea to temporarily release lessen the water elemental’s hold had originally been his idea and performed behind the spellspinner’s back. The quieter thoughts rattling around wondered where the Baenre could have run off to, since his matron wouldn’t take him after his failures.

Over all that, covering his other emotions like a thick, damp blanket, was fear. Fear that the primordial would get free, that the drow would be found out and he would have to return to his own matron in failure if they weren’t all killed, fear that the priestesses would turn on him. Rogue thoughts tried to allay the fear, with reassurance that Tiago was no longer a problem, that as long as the primordial was a problem his sisters wouldn’t touch him, and that the prison would hold in the end. The thought that he still had the Bregan D’aerthe on his side was even more comforting, but only briefly.

The spellspinner began to wonder where Kimmuriel was and became anxious all over again. Tired of the cycle, Razlaould left him to his thoughts. The illithid drifted down from his niche out of the drow’s sight and made his way back to the outskirts.

A rumble shook the caverns. Those little shakes were becoming more frequent and the worry that consumed the drow was starting to make him dizzy. All that negative emotion in one place was not good for his health or stability.

“Razlaould.” Tel’Kashir appeared at his side, head tilted curiously, “You have been running off on your own a great deal lately, does something trouble you?”

“The emotion here is making my head spin,” he replied. “I needed to occupy myself and refocus.”

“And what did you focus on?”

“Ravel Xorlarrin,” Razlaould saw no reason to lie, “He is the center of all this worry as is the Oblodra.”

Tel’Kashir bowed his head affirmatively, “Indeed, I have not heard from Kimmuriel since our last meeting, but even then he seemed alarmed. You saw him, though, and he was stable. What did you discuss?”

“I would prefer if you did not so rudely intrude on my thoughts,” Razlaould scolded, “but yes, I spoke to him. I gave him assurance that should something go awry we would be safe.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” the illithid added a warning edge to his tone and stance, “I also picked up that Jarlaxle may be staging a coup in Menzoberranzan.”

Interested, Tel’Kashir forgot about his initial line of questioning in favor of this one, “What kind of coup?”

“Kimmuriel believes that he will try to reassert his power over the Bregan D’earthe by collecting his force their and staging a systematic attack on the few still loyal to the Oblodra. It will be ‘surrender or die’ and it will be sudden.” Razlaould shrugged, “Or so he believes. That in and of itself could be the mercenary’s plan if the stories are grounded in truth.”

Tel’Kashir laughed, “I think it might have some fact behind it. The scout, Hune, was here the other day to check on Oblodra and Xorlarrin. Jarlaxle recently left for Menzoberranzan.”

“Oh, guild politics,” Razlaould joined in the laugh, “hilarious. Perhaps they may even destroy what they are fighting so hard to rule.”

“You will not involve yourself in the goings on here,” Tel’Kashir said suddenly, mirth of the moment gone.

“Are you giving me orders now?”

“I am stating fact,” Tel’Kashir replied, wary, “It would only seem an order if you entertained the decision to act to the contrary.”

Razlaould hesitated, watching the other illithid continue down the corridor. It certainly sounded like an order; and the decision to involve himself or not was irrelevant at this point.

-0-0-0-0-0-

The group had settled back in after the short confrontation between Effron and Entreri. Afafrenfere took up watch at the ranger’s bedside and the remaining three decided to discuss where to go from this point and how they would be able to manage aiding Neverwinter and not letting Drizzt work himself to death.

“We could go in,” Athrogate offered to Ambergris, “just the two o’ us right now. See what’s goin’ on and report back. We could be back by dawn tomorrow.”

The cleric shook her head, “I don’t want to be far when he wakes. After.”

“You can’t possibly expect to be able to go in there alone,” Effron argued, “even if you did you two would be too busy wanting to kill the drow than get any information.”

“We do other things too, ye know,” Athrogate snorted, dejected, “and who are you to say we can’t go?” There was a brief pause before the dwarf busted out laughing only to be hit in the back of the head with a small stone.

“No,” Entreri’s voice snarled, “none of that rhyming nonsense around me. I will not tolerate it.” He tossed another stone in the air threateningly.

“ _Bwahaha,_ ” Athrogate turned and laughed at him only to have the small stone clip his eye. He shouted, turning defensively, and scowling at Entreri.  “Ye’ve never been any fun.”

“I’ve killed men with stones that size,” the assassin quipped back, shaking the water from his hail with a brush of his hand. No one argued with the statement. “Is he awake yet?”

“No,” Ambergris sighed, “Afafrenfere’s in there with him. Ye should change though, one sick man is enough.”

Artemis rolled his eyes but didn’t put up a fight. He ducked into his and Drizzt’s shared room silently; Afafrenfere quickstepped out a moment later, door shutting forcefully behind him.

“Where did he go?” the monk asked as he approached the group, receiving a trio of shaking heads and rising shoulders in reply. “Okay, where do you think he went?” More shrugs. Afafrenfere sighed, “Wherever he went he was gone for a while, must of done something, it’s midnight.”

Effron blinked at him; when Entreri left the monk had said it was nearly dusk. “Are you sure?” he asked. The monk nodded. “I’m surprised your sense of time isn’t affected by weather,” he laughed.

Afafrenfere just shrugged and took his seat with them around the small, fire they’d set up in the on the hearth. “What do you think is going to happen when Drizzt wakes up?”

No one replied.

-0-0-0-0-0-

 

Glenda hovered around Rin when they were idle, and it was the first thing Dahlia noticed as she watched them from her room. She’d taken some time to think, but instead just wound up watching the other women talk and laugh among themselves like old friends. It was surprising when she thought about it; how close these women seemed with nothing to bind them but mutual imprisonment.

Talim smiled more than the rest of them, seeming unfettered by the predicament. She stood on occasion, telling stories and holding the group together. Dahlia could tell that she’d been through things like this before with her guild, perhaps even worse things, and carried them in stride. Occasionally she would wave Rin in for a little mock-scuffle, and Rin would comply, much to the entertainment of the other two.

The larger human typically fell to Talim before returning to her place by Glenda. She was clumsy, almost awkward on her feet. Despite a grumpy demeanor she seemed pretty gentle around the young one. It alarmed Dahlia that she was even here, not associated with a guild or any sort of work outside of a small business, but that was a question for another day.

Sasani was surprisingly quiet, offering a quip now and then, but really focusing more on her own thoughts than the world around her. After a few moments of watching the two humans scuffle she would shush them loudly and everyone would settle down.

Dahlia perked up at the sound. “What?” she asked, “What’s happening?”

“We were getting too loud,” Talim explained, ever helpful, “Sasani sort of keeps track of making sure we don’t get too rowdy, lest the guards come sniffing.”

“Guards?” Dahlia mused. Then she remembered how Glenda had shushed her in the vent. “They can hear us?”

“Through the air vents,” Talim nodded.

Dahlia lowered her voice and approached Glenda “you know this place better than the rest of us. Where are the vents outside?”

The girl thought for a moment, “They’re in all the rooms and at the guard stations.”

“And where are the guard stations?”

Glenda thought a bit more, “There’s one a few halls over, near the lounge.”

“The vents are too small to crawl through anyway,” Rin argued, “Talim already tried that.”

“They converge though,” the rogue added, “into a central passage that’s a bit bigger. Glen could probably fit through it for a way.”

The women continued to talk as Dahlia wrapped her head around the information, she threw her head back, breathing deep and collecting her thoughts. After a bit, a smile widened across her face.

“Oh look,” Sasani laughed, “new girl’s got an idea.”

The rest of the group looked to her and Dahlia just smiled at them with a slight nod of her head.

-0-0-0-0-0-

A soft voice sang sweetly in his ear, a gentle song with a slow tempo, barely more than a lullaby. A plush bed cushioned his form, comforting and warm against his skin. He smelled pine needles and the warmth of spices. Delicate fingers brushed through his hair to soothe him further. His painfully tense muscles began to relax, peaceful and content.

He stayed like that for a long time, eyes closed, listening to the hushed, familiar voice and feeling fingers brush his skin; from his hairline, across his temple, down his neck, to settle on his chest barely-there and idle. His heartbeat picked up, a playful excitement warming his blood and bringing a smirk to his face.

The excitement turned to fear when the voice drifted off into silence. A white hot pin pressed into his cheek and Drizzt tried to pull away, eyes coming open to look at the offending thing.

Embers rained from burning trees, stars of orange in a sky of thick, black smoke. He coughed until his eyes watered against the harsh bitterness and struggled to get away. His neck was free and he could crane it to see the white bands wrapped around his wrists, ankles, and torso, binding him to an enormous silken spider’s web suspended between the trees of the canopy. Below him, wood cracked and fire caught gusts of air with a terrifying _whoosh_. He could hear the thunderous stampede of screaming animals and it split his heart in two.

He pulled against the bonds to no avail, the resilient silk digging into his skin.

_Aw, it’s adorable that you think you’ll get free._

Drizzt stiffened at the voice, turning his head slowly to try and get a glimpse at the speaker. Not tolerating that, a hand tangled into his hair between the silk strands of the web. The hand pulled tight, angling the ranger’s head to face forward and tilting back. Drizzt fought against the grip, but only succeeded in feeling the burn of hairs being pulled from his scalp.

_Try struggling now._

The ranger could only watch as shadows in the smoke swirled and collected in to a tangible shape that dropped down onto the web and approached him. Drizzt could feel his composure fleeing him even before he could make out the details.

Her dark skin blended with the smoke until she was nearly on top of him, red eyes glowing in the darkness. Long white hair caught the orange of the blaze and hung about her head and shoulders like a shroud of tempered flame. She smiled at him, mockingly triumphant, flashing sharp fangs; she held forth her arms palms up, holding the pose for only a moment. It was an image he’d never forgotten from his youth.

Not caring for lost hair Drizzt fought with his restraints, desperately trying flee, but failing and only causing himself pain. When he surrendered she was hovering over him, smiling in his face. A finger hooked under his chin and forced him to look at her. “You thought you could get way,” she sang in that chaotic collection of sounds that had made Drizzt so fearful in previous days, “you put forth a valiant effort too.”

The hand on his hair tightened and pulled his head back painfully far. A gentle brush of fingers against his neck, like spider across his skin, stopped to rest on his chest. A single, warm, acrid puff of air was last pleasant thing he felt; fangs sinking in to tender skin, the hot bubbling of blood in his throat around the searing pain and pull of flesh being torn away.

He woke with a shout to eight small, beady points of light hovering above his heart and sliding closer to his neck. Unable to fight the frightened howl that tightened his ribs and pushed the air out of him, Drizzt panicked. He grabbed the thing by the face and tore it away from him, hurling it across the room to land with a sickening crack.

His eyes scanned the room, he could still hear laughter and smell the smoke and his throat burned to choking. He sat there, shaking and terrified in the dark until a familiar voice cut through the noise in his head.

“What happened? Drizzt? What’s going on?”


	13. Breaking Point

Artemis Entreri couldn’t remember the last time he’d awoken to screaming. Perhaps it was during his internment in Menzoberranzan, or before that in Pasha Pook’s guild. He jolted awake at the sound, eyes open and trying to find the source in the darkness while simultaneously trying to get as far away from it as possible, “What happened?”

When the thinking parts of his brain finally caught up with him, he discovered it had been Drizzt that was screaming. The drow had settled into panicked breathing and soft, terrified vocalization every time he exhaled.

“Drizzt?” Artemis squinted at the ranger in the darkness, “What’s going on?”

Drizzt just sat there, staring straight ahead, trembling where he sat.  Artemis gingerly took him by the shoulder and shook him, repeating his questions. The touch seemed to break the drow’s trance and he doubled over, shaking even harder.

A wave of anxiety hit the human hard. He leaned in closer, thinking Drizzt on the verge of another fit, only to hear with soft sobs muffled in the fabric of the ranger’s blankets. In spite of himself, Artemis let go of a relieved sigh, and gently rubbed the drow’s back, waiting for the outburst of emotion to stop. When it didn’t let up the assassin shushed him quietly, and tried to pull him upright. Drizzt fell heavily against him, sobbing and sniffling into the fabric of his shirt. The human could hear the elf’s concerted effort to contain the emotion, as well as how completely he was failing.

The door came open after a few minutes accompanied with a sharp “Ow!” from Effron’s voice and an annoyed scolding from Afafrenfere. Artemis smiled to himself, satisfied that Effron had set off the trap and not someone less deserving. At the sound, Drizzt straightened, trying to collect himself and failing.

“We heard screaming,” Afafrenfere said as he, the warlock, and the dwarves took up places a safe distance away from the room’s normal occupants.

Drizzt took a deep breath and started to shake his head, but Artemis grabbed him by the ear and pulled until the drow was bent over double, clawing at him and hissing insults. “No,” the assassin said in his best stern-father voice “you will not lie to us anymore. We know something is wrong, and you’d best cough up the information before we figure out how to force it out of you.”

The human released him, and Drizzt straightened again. His eyes scanned the small collection of people gathered around them, concerned, almost saddened, faces on all of them; Athrogate’s grow in a stern furrow, braided beard shifting as his jaw moved, Ambergris matched his expression but with a little more care and scrutiny. Effron tried hard to hide the swell of emotion edging across his face, but the mix of fear and sadness was hard to miss. Afafrenfere seemed to have himself more under control, his jaw tight, and hands tucked behind his back occasional flexing in his arms giving away the wringing motions he was putting them through. The ranger turned to Artemis, who was more behind him than at his side, and nearly crumbled again; dark circles clung to the lower lids of his eyes almost like bruises, his breathing was slow and measured, but his expression wasn’t angry, it was almost sad.

He shifted his gaze from Artemis to the group and back again a few times. His heart began to pound violently in his chest; he was cornered. He let out a soft, pained breath.

_Lie your way out of this one._

It felt like the voice was inside is head now; ratting around and making the backs of his eyes vibrate at the words. He could hear the laughter too, and when the group renewed their questions the noise was too much to bear. All he could do was cover his ears to block out what he could and wait for the dizzying noise to pass. Drizzt felt a whirlwind kick up in his chest, making him nauseous and dizzy; he bowed his head and breathed deep, but it didn’t help.

Drizzt felt a hand settle on either of his shoulders, resting there and waiting patiently for him to recover. When he finally did, Drizzt saw that Effron had settled at his side, opposite Artemis. “Let us help ye,” Ambergris said taking a step closer to him.

The ranger took a deep breath, trying to come up with some way to explain his behavior, some way to make them not worry about him anymore. Something that they would believe and would leave him be about. His heart ached rebelliously as his mind tried to come up with more and more lies that made less and less sense. He looked to each of them in turn, nervous, worried, and confused; he closed his eyes and started to speak.

He told them everything; the voice, the noises, the lost time, the rogue thoughts, and the headaches. He told them about how he thought he wasn’t so bad off, that catching up on lost sleep and distracting himself would be enough. That he was wrong. He told them about the dream, the fire, the smoke; he hesitated a bit in describing the drider. “It was Her,” he said, trembling, “I know it was. I’ll never forget Her face. And then when I woke there was this spider on me,” he pointed in the general direction he’d thrown the thing, “I panicked and hurled it over there. It must have scurried away.”

Athrogate broke from the, now sitting, group to investigate.

“I apologize,” Drizzt said, turning to Artemis, “I’ve been doing a lot of damage to you. And I certainly didn’t mean to wake you up twice in one night.”

The rest of the group shot angry glances at Artemis. The assassin shook his head, ready to deny, but instead asked, “Drizzt, what’s the last thing you remember?”

The drow’s lavender eyes widened. “I… We came back from Arunika’s after we heard Valindra screaming,” he said, wracking his brain, “We all went to bed. I woke in the middle of the night and had a bit of an episode with that voice and I think I woke you, but eventually went back to sleep.”

Artemis’s saddened expression didn’t change, but the rest of the group forgot their anger, “Drizzt,” the human said slowly, “that was a day ago.”

Stunned, the ranger looked to the rest of his companions. They explained the trip to Gauntlgrym, the fit that he’d had, and how he’d been asleep for the better part of the day. Drizzt felt sick again by the end of it, but the group reassured him that he was still himself the whole time, if a little sickly. He gave them a weak smile in return for their generous words.

Ambergris leaned forward in her spot, gesturing for Drizzt to come closer, claiming to want to check him for the fever he’d been sporting so long. The ranger complied, but jumped back when the dwarf made contact. “Ow,” he crinkled his nose, “you shocked me.”

“Sorry,” she rubbed her hands together, “must still be the buildup of magic from the last hiccup. Come back.” She tried to touch him again, but the ranger jumped back a second time, still claiming to have been shocked. “Odd.”

Drizzt shrugged. He felt a little better now, lighter. The weight of lies and secrecy lifted from his heart and mind.

_How long do you think they’ll be this loyal?_

Athrogate returned to the group shaking his hairy head, “I didn’ find any spider, or any sign o’ one.”

The group looked to Drizzt, who assured them he had seen it, “It was on my chest,” he argued, “I felt it in my hand, heard it crack against the wall.” He looked to them desperately.

“I think I know what made the noise,” Athrogate said. He was hesitating though, seeming to only be swayed by to pleading look Drizzt was giving him. He held out his hand to the drow, and gave him something.

It was in pieces; the whistle to summon Andahar still intact, but the scrimshaw unicorn head was snapped in two. Drizzt felt a chill in his blood. He’d broken it. A bubble of emotion welled in him and he hung his head, clenching the pieces tightly enough to hurt his hands, and fighting back the sobs that tried to claw themselves free. His companions sat in reverent silence around him.

_Let’s see her help you now._

The others, on Afafrenfere’s suggestion and ignoring Effron’s arguments, left the room for a moment to collect their things, and return to their spots on the floor. Drizzt wasn’t sure how to respond to the gesture. That they wanted to keep a close eye on him. Briefly he wondered if it was out of paranoia or sympathy, or some combination of the two.

After several moments of thinking, he realized he didn’t really care.

-0-0-0-0-0-

“Are you unaware that what you are doing is illegal?” Tel’Kashir asked, taking a seat beside his colleague.

“Are you unaware that the laws of Oryndoll do not extend beyond its borders?” Razlaould shot back, pouring another glass of the gnomish concoction. He never cared too much for Oryndoll’s restrictions on mind-altering substances, particularly the mild ones like alcohol, although he was in a very small minority. He caught the glass in dexterous tentacles and drained it in a quick motion. “I can pour you a glass; show you what you are missing.”

“I can turn you in and have you reeducated; show you consequences for your actions.”

Razlaould made a soft noise, almost like sigh, but more of a cough. “Of course you could. Any word from Kimmuriel, or on the slaves yet?”

“I have not received either,” the other replied, leaning back in his chair. He made an angry noise as his colleague poured another glass of the swirling swill. “Getting antsy without your girl?”

“Nonsense,” Razlaould scoffed, setting his glass down.

“Really? Do people not normally miss their pets?”

“She is a servant, not a pet, not friend, not whatever other impropriety you wish to accuse me of,” Razlaould tapped his class against the table in annoyance, “believe me, I have heard them all. Her purpose is to make my life easier; anyone who says otherwise is lying to you. Apparently, you are gullible enough to believe them.”

Another angry noise, “Rumors like that are founded in truth-“

“Or jealousy.” Razlaould quipped. He knew he was getting on Tel’Kashir’s nerves now. Illithids like him didn’t tolerate interruption or blatant insult for long. “Perhaps _you_ are starting that rumor here. You just want something to use against me. I am left to wonder why. Are you, perhaps, jealous, that my one servant can do twice the work of your three slaves in but a fraction of the time? Many have expressed envy to that effect. Do you wish to steal her from me?”

Tel’Kashir’s tentacles pulled up and back in outrage, “What? No, of course not, how dare you accuse me of such a thing.”

Razlaould kept pressing, “You ask all these questions about me, why? What are you so wary of in me? I am but an art scholar, low on the totem pole of study. I am unfit to even live within the walls of the city. So why the interest?”

“You should watch how much of that you drink, you may say something foolish.” Tel’Kashir rose from his seat and left, taking his angry aura with him. Razlaould leaned back in his seat, taking a victorious drink from his glass. He waited until the coast was clear, knowing that the other illithid would not return for some time.

With a deep, steeling breath, he rose and ducked out of the room heading in the opposite direction of his colleague; away from the tunnels of Gauntlgrym.

-0-0-0-0-0-

“You have an idea,” Talim laughed, “do share.”

“So we may shoot it down,” Sasani added.

Dahlia rolled her eyes and explained her plan in a low, whisper, to be sure the vents wouldn’t pick her up. The girls looked skeptical at first, but steadily warmed up to the idea the more she explained. By the time she finished the girls were smiling right along with her.

“What do you need?” Talim asked.

Dahlia grin turned serious, “I’ll need a distraction. A good one.” She looked between them, “Could we trip one of the doors?”

Sasani nodded, “I still have the components for a couple spells. I could probably trip a door from a distance.”

Talim smiled, “We’d also need a lead for them to follow, something to throw them off us. Rin, do you still have that dress you made for Glen?” The large woman nodded and Talim’s smile grew wider, “Good, we can use that.”

“Aw,” Glenda complained through a wide smile, “I kind of liked that dress.”

“Everyone knows their role in this?” Dahlia asked, getting nods from most of the group.

“What if-“ Talim tried to ask but Dahlia shushed her.

“We can’t work on what ifs,” Dahlia said, “What I’ve outlined is the best possible contingency, all the others I could think of end in failure. So it’s best not to think about them.”

“The guards in the halls?” Rin asked.

“We take them down with their own weapons,” Dahlia said, “I know you aren’t all fighters, but I’m not expecting you to do much of the work anyway, okay?”

The other women nodded.

“Let’s set this up,” Dahlia took a deep breath, and they broke apart, setting to their tasks as quietly and as quickly as possible.

There was a good chance her luck would fail her, and she would get them all killed, that this plan wasn’t as good as she hoped it was. The others had reassured her with their enthusiasm, but that could have just been to placate her. They seemed to be committed to it though. Whether it was because they were ready to die at this point or actually believed in her, she couldn’t be certain.

Not that she really cared, given the alternatives.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Effron had turned out the light on his wand a long while ago. The group opting to try and get a little rest before hashing out everything the following day since all but Drizzt was still exhausted from earlier exertions. Even Entreri finally gave in to the call of his pillow after a time, gradually sinking to the floor.

Drizzt sat alone in the dark for what felt like ages, arguing with his own thoughts and trying to make sense of everything over the noise. He looked down at the pieces of carved bone in his hands and fought the urge to break down all over again. The memory of the day Regis had given him the pendant flashed across his thoughts; he tried to hold on to it, but the noise washed it away like sand in the tide.

He turned to Artemis, the human curled in a tight ball, breathing evenly. The ranger wanted to reach out, to shaking him away, if anything just to pry some reassurance out of the man, but resisted. Artemis had stayed through everything, and that should have been enough.

But it didn’t feel like enough.

He brought a dark hand to his face and covered his eyes, regretting the decision immediately since all he could see behind closed eyes anymore was fire and Her. The ranger tried to shake the image out of his head, to no avail. He turned his gaze back to Artemis.

“I can feel you staring,” the assassin grumbled quietly, rolling over and trying to rub the tiredness from his eyes. He sat up beside the ranger, “do you need something?”

“I feel like a burden,” Drizzt mumbled before he could stop himself. Artemis made a face, so he clarified, “I want this to be over. I can’t live this way much longer, but I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Artemis kept making the skeptical face, but whispered, “That’s what you have friends for. Combined we should be able to figure something out.” Drizzt tried to argue, but Artemis stopped him, “You have five relatively talented people from a variety of backgrounds that have nothing better to do with their lives than help you, Drizzt, stop looking a gift horse in the mouth.”

The ranger gave a half-hearted laugh, which really sounded more like a sob than a laugh, and pushed Artemis’s shoulder in mock anger. Once they stopped moving Drizzt, despite everything inside him screaming at him not to, Drizzt took the human’s hand. He nearly jumped when Artemis returned the gesture with a comforting squeeze.

Leaning heavily against the human, Drizzt felt what little courage he’d managed to hold on to flee him. He shuddered, receiving another squeeze to his hand. “I’m scared,” Drizzt whispered. Artemis rested a cheek against the top of his head, and laced their fingers together without a word.

They stayed like that until morning.


	14. The One-Eyed Raven

Rainy days passed largely without incident for Drizzt and his companions; despite the awkward silences and tense looks. Even the stiff walk Artemis sported when he finally joined the group that first afternoon cleared up without interference from the cleric; he claimed it was nothing, but the more observant members of the group caught sight of a nasty bruise along his back and hip when his shirt rode up and he flat out refused to explain it to anyone.

On the fourth day, the skies began to clear, opening a path for the blazing heat of the summer sun, and forcing those with weaker constitutions to stay indoors. The stone walls of the temple managed to keep out some of the heat, but the light pouring in from the high windows was surprisingly bright, and the warm dusty smell coming off the curtains covering the lower windows stunk up the place quickly. The six companions grew restless and tense as the days drew on and on.

“We can’t just do nothing,” Drizzt said, shooting a pointed look across the group to Entreri, “if we wait much longer, there won’t be a Neverwinter to save. _Again._ ”

The assassin scowled at him, “You’ve become a liability to us, Do’Urden. You are unstable, unreliable, you could place us all in danger just by being there. We got lucky last time, but that luck won’t last forever.”

“I will not stand back and watch these people be placed in danger over and over again when I can-“

“Even if we got in there,” Entreri interrupted, “without incident, what would we do? How would we stop things? Appeal to the drow? Because they are so very understanding.”

“We won’t know how to handle the problem until we understand what the problem is,” Effron said, loud enough to be heard over the two men, “and we can’t do that until we see what’s going on down there first hand.”

“But Artemis is right,” Afafrenfere added, “Drizzt, we can’t place you in that kind of danger again. These people may require aid, but if you refuse to help yourself how can you expect to help others?”

“I feel fine,” Drizzt argued. “I’ve been improving lately.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Artemis scoffed.

The two glared at each other in tense silence. How long could the people of Neverwinter really wait for something to be done about the primordial? Would the lords send troops to aid in rebuilding the city or had they given up as much as the townsfolk seemed to? The memory of Port Llast and the tragedy that had been found there, the joy of the people when Drizzt Do’Urden and his less than merry band came to aid them, was still prevalent to all of them.

“Fine.” The ranger said slowly, “Then the rest of you can go, find out what you can, and I can stay here.”

“Ah,” Ambergris pounded a fist against the floor to get the attention of the group, “That’s not happenin’. I dun want ye out of my sight until I know what exactly is wrong with ye.”

Drizzt buried his face in his hands. “We can’t just do nothing. We have to go down there,” He was pleading now, almost desperate in his sincerity.

“ _We_ don’t have to do anything.” Artemis shot back, “And personally, I’m tired of the heroics. There is no reason that you need to destroy yourself for these people. We need to help you first.”

The drow made soft noise in disagreement, “I am one person, they are a city, you would condemn them all to die?” His focus honed in on Artemis, his expression on the verge of appalled. Artemis noticed something there that caused his scowl to deepen, but the other four people present couldn’t place what it was.

“I would condemn them to wait.” He replied, voice cold and flat.

There was somber silence that followed.

“How well do ye feel?” Ambergris asked.

Drizzt thought for a moment. “I’m pretty clear,” he replied, “the best I’ve been in a few days.”

“Perhaps,” Effron turned to Entreri, “We _could_ go in. Get the information we need, and when we get out to regroup we can figure out the primordial problem as well as our little ranger problem.”

“I know a quick way to the chamber,” Athrogate added.

The group seemed set on that compromise, all but one.

“I’ll have no part in it.” Entreri said, “I will not place my life in that kind of danger for these people.” He waved off the onslaught of objections the group bombarded him with, “If you all are so keen on doing so, fine. I won’t stop you. And, hey, if you turn out successful; great. But I don’t like the odds, and I don’t gamble with my life.”

“Just the lives of others,” Drizzt growled.

“Things that aren’t mine hold less value to me.” The assassin said, rising and going back to the side room he shared with Drizzt. Unable to resist, the ranger followed.

“Should we-“ Effron began to ask, only to be shushed by the rest of the group.

“Let them work this out,” Afafrenfere sighed, “If anyone is going to be able to talk Drizzt out of this, it has to be Artemis.”

“We’ve placed that kind of faith in the assassin before and look where that got us.” Ambergris laughed.

The monk shook his head, “I know, that’s what I’m worried about.”

-0-0-0-0-0-

Eckhart and Perry had just started their shift when they heard the first explosion. They were halfway down the hall when they heard the second, accompanied by a rumbling in the floor threatening to pitch them from their feet and echoing shouts of panic wafting from the air vents. The two guards had expected some sort of back up to join them outside of the prisoners’ quarters before they were forced to go in. None came.

“Let’s be quick about this,” Eckhart sighed, “Scrape the little troublemaker’s body off the floor and get gone, yeah?”

Perry nodded his agreement, pulling back the tapestry to access the large oak and iron wheel to open the door. It took some effort and the large slab of metal caught in the track a few times, ultimately stopping about halfway. “Looks like that’s it,” he said with shrug of broad shoulders.

They both ducked into the hall, waving dust and debris out of their faces. It was dim, most of the lighted sconces knocked from the wall, or extinguished. A thin layer of dust covered the floor, floating up into the air with each of their steps. In the center of the hall, a short way in, a large pile of stones sat, still clattering to floor beneath a huge gaping hole in the ceiling. The doors on either side of the stone pile had been blown open, their doors in splinters and most of the furniture within in splinters.

“There,” Perry elbowed Eckhart in the side, pointing to a scrap of bloodied cloth among the stones.

“Looks like she tried to get away,” Eckhart groaned, approaching the rubble, “Probably tripped the other door when she ran into it. Oh, man, the boss is not going to be happy about this mess.”

The two guards made their way to the pile of rubble, kicking aside stones as they went. “I wonder how much is left of her. Boss’s doors are efficient-“

“Shh-“ Perry shoved him, “Listen.”

There was soft noise, a clap, that grew louder as they approached the center of the rubble. “What-“ Eckhart screwed up his face, looking over his shoulder at his partner. The clapping stopped when they were directly below the hole in the ceiling.

“Rats?” Perry suggested.

Eckhart balanced himself atop the stones, trying to reach the edge of broken stone.

There was crack, harsh and loud behind them. Perry grunted, knocked from his feet and headlong into the loose rock on the floor, gouging a deep gash in his brow when he collided with the unforgiving, jagged stone. Eckhart whirled about in time to see the giant, black, bird dashing forward, talon’s ready; before he had a chance to draw his weapon, the bird’s talons were in his neck, and blood bubbled hot and coppery into his mouth.

The last thing he saw before his world went black was the twisting scar and empty socket of the bird’s left eye.

-0-0-0-0-0-

“You cannot honestly tell me these people don’t matter to you at all.” Drizzt snarled, closing the door sharply behind him.

“Yes,” Artemis said, nodding sarcastically, “Yes I can.”

“Where is your soul? We should make it our quest to find it next.”

“The same place you’ve hidden your mind,” Entreri ground his teeth angrily, “Going on this mission right now is suicide, for you and for the rest of us.” He closed the gap between them, “You have four people out there that you are trying to convince to go into a dark tunnel with a man that can barely control his own thoughts.”

“I’m in control.”

The assassin laughed openly at him, “Oh and great idea pursuing this argument in here, gods forbid we fight in front of the children. Would you like to discuss how to discipline them next?”

The ranger barred his teeth, “Don’t get fresh with me.”

“Then stop trying to force me and everyone else to put our lives in danger to soothe your conscience,” Entreri nearly shouted at him. “Don’t think for a heartbeat that I don’t know what this is. You think Lolth has some kind of hold over you and the only way you can repent is by saving these people. Well, what happens when we go in there, you lose control, and we all _die?_ Huh? Please, tell me. Because the lords sure aren’t sending any men to aid these peasants and vagrants, are they?”

“Enough-“

The human took him by the shoulders, “I may have those people out there on my side now, but that may not last forever.” He sighed, “Drizzt, you can’t do this, not right now. Let us take you somewhere else, find out how to handle what’s wrong with you.”

Drizzt pushed him away roughly, “And what if we don’t find anything. Since you remember so much, I’m sure you recall that Ambergris, our cleric, can’t even _touch_ me. What-“ He whimpered softly, “What if I start getting worse? What if… in a few weeks, or days, I crumble completely? I feel like this might be our last chance to help these people, Artemis. I want to at least try.”

“I swear to all the gods, good and evil, Drizzt Do’Urden, I will hold you down, tie you up and _carry_ you out of this forsaken city before I let you place my life in a situation like that.”

The ranger snarled, grabbing the human by the collar of his shirt, “No- I… I can’t let you do this. I told these people I would help them.” He sighed, grip on the dark fabric loosening, “You’re right. I am doing this to soothe my conscience, but surely, somewhere in that cold ball of cynicism is someone that doesn’t want these people to all die.” His voice took on the same desperate, pleading edge it had earlier. “You ran into a collapsing house during an earthquake to attempt to save a boy’s mother, for heavens’ sake.”

The scowl on Artemis’s face relaxed into a passive mask. “Drizzt, don’t do this. These people are not your burden any more than they are mine or Athrogate’s or Effron’s or anyone’s.”

“When I said I would aid them I made them my burden,” The ranger said, solemn.

The assassin watched him for several moments, waiting. “There-“ he said snapping his fingers and regaining the ranger’s attention. “That faraway look, like you’re listening to a conversation no one else can hear.” He held the drow’s face in his hands, forcing eye contact, “That’s why I cannot agree to this. It means whatever that thing was that took you over, the day before we went to Arunika, it’s still in there. It can take you over again and ruin whatever plan we might have. That is a risk I’m not comfortable taking.”

Drizzt’s jaw clenched beneath the human’s calloused hands, “You can either come with me or I can go alone.”

“Drizzt, no.”

“I’ve made my decision, Artemis.” He whimpered, “I have to do this.”

“You have nothing to prove to us,” Artemis argued, “We aren’t heroes, we don’t expect you to be either.”

“Stop-“

“No,” The human pressed in closer, their noses nearly touching, “I cannot let you do this, to the group or-“

His argument caught in his throat, the ground pitching and rolling beneath them. Shouts of their companions drifted through the door after them. Drizzt raised his gaze to the assassin, as if the earthquake somehow proved his point.

They waited out the quake, leaning on each other for support. The loud, rumbling of building collapsing and the shrill whine of distant screaming crept into the air around them. Drizzt closed his eyes, fighting back the pained look that made it on to his face anyway; Artemis felt his resolve falter.

When it ended, Drizzt pulled away; the look in his eyes enough to break a lesser being, “I know you heard them,” he whispered.

“They are not my concern,” Artemis replied.

“How can you be so heartless?”

“It isn-“

Again, Artemis’s rebuttal was interrupted by a shaking in the ground. The two men looked to each other, each bearing a concerned expression, and ducked back into the main room.

“Another one?” Drizzt said it first, but the others followed in his confusion.

“It’s getting worse,” Effron replied. “If they’re this close together.”

“We have to get out of here,” Artemis offered.

“No,” Drizzt said, taking him by the shirtsleeve, “We need to stop them. Now, before the mountain blows.”

Artemis wanted to argue, with everything he had in him he wanted to, but nothing came. The worried, yet stern looks of his companions and the pleading expression Drizzt gave him were overpowering. He sighed, defeated, and nodded, “Let’s go.”

-0-0-0-0-0-

The rumbling in the tunnel was a surprise; not a shocking one, but a mild surprise. A few rocks fell from the tunnel’s high walls and the shadows twisted and moved like water. Jarlaxle heard the skittering of smaller creatures as they dashed and ducked for cover. He laughed softly as they ran.

A shadow moved beside him and he chalked it up to just another animal until it took him by the shoulder. Jarlaxle stepped away, pulling a dagger from his bracer, and spinning toward his attacker only to be stopped mid-turn by solid strike to his side. The mercenary took a few quick steps away, swinging his blade in sharp arch. It was ready for him though, tight grip catching his wrist and swift turn sending the dark elf to the ground at its feet.

The drow stared up, blinking stupidly at the illithid that stood above him. “Impressive,” he laughed, “I’ve never seen one of your kind that quick on its feet.”

It was a tall creature like most of its race, but broad-shouldered and sturdy unlike its cousins. A loose cowl draped about the collar of its fitted leather coat. Thick, dark gloves came up to its elbows and did little to hide the uncomfortable stiffness in its left hand. A clicking revealed the hard soles of its boots as it impatiently tapped the floor waiting for the drow to rise. Its tentacles twitched and something caught the limited light above its impassive brow.

Jarlaxle hopped to his feet, a sharp twinge in his arm where the illithid had twisted to throw him, “I didn’t know mind flayers came in fighters.”

The creature made a dry coughing noise. _Do not waste my time with this banter._

Jarlaxle held up his hands, defensively, “Is there something you want, creature?”

The illithid’s tense posture relaxed, _I am Razlaould, one of the scholars sent to accompany Kimmuriel Oblodra in Gauntlgrym, I was told you were his superior, until recently._

“And I shall be his superior again, if I have anything to say about it,” the dark elf couldn’t resist the comment or the knowing smirk that followed.

_I have also been made aware that you are familiar with a certain Drizzt Do’Urden,_ Razlaould shifted through his pockets. _They were in the tunnels the other day, seeking to undo the damage the dark elves have done with the primordial. I could not see all of their progress, but surely they intend to return._

“What does this have to do with me?” Jarlaxle asked, narrowing his eyes.

The creature pulled a small, white disk on a chain from its pocket, _I request that you deliver this to him. It will allow them to accomplish their task. They trust you, they will listen._ It offered the amulet to him.

The mercenary took the disk and examined it closely. “How does it work?”

_It must be broken and immediately tossed into the primordial,_ it explained, _the magic will work on its own from there._

“What do I get in return for this?” Jarlaxle laughed, arching an eyebrow, “What is to stop me from just taking this and using it for my own devices?”

Razlaould ran a hand across its face _While I do not want to even attempt to think of the potential devices you may want to use this for. One of your best lieutenants is still in Gauntlgrym, and two of your contacts are still in the area, unaware of the threat. If the primordial is not kept in its prison it will do more than just explode all over Neverwinter, it will be free to roam as it pleases._

Jarlaxle nodded, slipping the disk into a pouch on his belt, “Fair enough. Why don’t you just-“

_I am under heavy surveillance by someone that does not desire to save the history Gauntlgrym harbors. This is the only opportunity I have._ Razlaould interrupted. _Deliver the amulet to them, explain how it works, and help them complete their mission. I will hire you as a mercenary if I must._

That last sentence knocked Jarlaxle back a bit. Who was this creature? Why didn’t it just threaten to take over his mind or wipe out his guild? Something else was going on here; a curious part of him wanted to know, but the practical part of him was preaching the benefits of not knowing from the rafters of his mind. “Fine,” he said, “Hire me then. I will expect payment, but not in coin. No, not from you. I want information.”

_Ask your question, drow. You get one, so make it count._ Razlaould folded its arms across its chest, stiff hand resting in the crook of its elbow.

“What is the Sundering?”

The illithid shifted its weight. _The Sundering is a rewriting,_ it explained, _of all that is and all that shall be. The gods intend to meet and reestablish the balance of power amongst themselves, and it will tear the merged planes asunder. It will undo the damage of the spellplague, and perhaps bring about another Time of Troubles, or some other flaw in the laws of nature the people of Toril have come to be used to during that meeting of the gods. I do not know the details beyond that other than its beginning will be heralded by a prolonged eclipse of the sun, after the last Chosen accepts their role._

Jarlaxle’s face fell at the news. “Interesting. You have yourself a deal. I will deliver to Do’Urden and his party, and they will aid Gauntlgrym.”

_See that they do._ The creature said, lifting into the shadows and disappearing altogether.

The dark elf took several deep, steadying breaths, running several courses of action through his head that consistently ended badly. He shook off the nervous weight that settled inside his chest and about his shoulders, held another deep breath for a few seconds before letting it out slowly through his nose and continuing on his path.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Talim clapped a hand over her face to muffle her victorious laughter. Rin climbed to the top of the rubble pile to pull Glenda out of the cramped air vent, nearly toppling them both over in the process. Sasani raised her eyebrows, surprised at the victory.

“Wait-“ the mage said, looking Dahlia over, “Are you the bandit from the road to the north? What was it they called her? The One-Eyed Raven?”

“’She comes,’” Rin put on her best old man voice, “’Disguised as a bird, to peck out your eyes and take your coin’. How does someone like that end up here?”

Dahlia snorted, “’Someone like that’? What is that supposed to mean?”

Talim laughed, “You’re quite the urban legend around here, girlie. A bird woman that runs off with coins and trinkets.”

Dahlia rolled her eyes, “It’s rather difficult to become an urban legend in a couple of months. But, yes that is me, I suppose.” She broke her staff in two, readying herself for combat.

Talim took up one of the guard’s swords and tossed the other to Rin, chuckling when the taller human fumbled with the blade. “You still got some spells, mage?” She asked, getting a quick nod from Sasani.

“A couple,” She said, flexing her fingers, “weak ones.”

“Let’s go,” Dahlia ducked through the door, “girl, stay close to Rin. She can shield you. Mage, take up the rear.” She ignored Sasani’s plea of “I have a name!” and turned to face Talim, “I want you with me, you seem to be the only other one good with a blade.”

Talim tested the blade in her hand, ducking out into the hallway behind Dahlia, “Yeah. Let’s go.”

The five set off in a tight group at a slow jog; Glenda directed them through the halls with the fewest amount of guards.

“Looks like business is over,” she said, smirking, “Must have scared off the customers with all the explosions.”

A pair of guards rounded the corner and descended upon them. Dahlia, still bloodthirsty, rushed to meet them both. She caught the swinging sword of the nearest one with a staff, jabbing the other into his face with enough force to break his nose. She pushed him into his companion as he swayed, knocking them both off balance, and ultimately sending the first tumbling to the floor. The second, still unsteady was met with a barrage of jabs and swings of her staves. Eventually she broke the right staff into a flail and pummeled him right into the floor beside his barely conscious companion.

Once they were prone, they were easy to kill.

Another round of guards came at them in the next hall. Talim ran one through with her sword, Dahlia beat the other to oblivion.

The third round saw them coming and bolted down a side passage. Dahlia called on the magic of her cloak and chased them down, her talons tearing through leather and flesh easily on both men. She heard her group run past her as she reverted to her elfin form.

“This way,” Glenda called, “It goes right to Conrad’s offi-“

More guards closed in behind them, their footfalls echoing off the walls as they approached, trying to box them in. The women backed up, forming a tight circle and keeping the youngest between them.

“Can you clear us a path?” Dahlia whispered to the mage as she reformed her eight foot staff and tapped it on the floor.

“No,” Sasani answered, but I can slow down the chase.

“Good enough.”

The group shifted and turned until Sasani faced their pursuers and Dahlia was readying her staff at their path. “Ready?” Dahlia asked, looking to the two humans. They nodded, brandishing their blades.

Men poured into the hallway ahead of them, Dahlia bided her time, tapping her staff against the floor more urgently, and despite the protesting sounds of her group continued to do so until the first guard was nearly on them before lifting it, calling on its magic, and shooting a bolt of lightning into his chest, the force of the blow knocked him backwards into a pair of his companions, sending the three sprawling on the floor, prime for the blades aimed at exposed skin beneath armor. Dahlia and Talim lead the charge, having the most skill and experience in melee combat, but a few stragglers slipped through and Rin, despite her poor balance and only a few days’ worth of proper training, managed to take them down.

A loud _fwoosh_ sounded off behind them; a sheet of flame consuming the hallway from Sasani’s splayed fingers. It didn’t do much damage outside of burning the few men at the front of the group of guards, but cowls and stray cloth ignited instantly, sending the guards into a frenzy to put themselves out while the women dashed away.

“They’ll be right behind us.” Sasani called to the front of their little team.

“We can outrun them,” Dahlia replied.

The halls grew narrower as they progressed, Glenda calling out directions the whole way.

The door to Conrad’s office was still cracked open when they arrived, guards trailing thunderously behind them. He was bound to hear them soon.

“Hold your ground,” Dahlia said to Talim, and trio lined up to block off the hallway, the youngest between them and the door to the guildmaster’s quarters.

“Be quick will you?” the rogue shot back.

Dahlia saw shadow flicker across the light in the doorway. Without another thought she called on magic of her cloak, and with a single, sharp beat of dark-feathered wings, shot through the door like an arrow just as Conrad closed it. When he turned around, she was an elf once more, flail and staff trained on him.

“I’m surprised you made it this far,” he laughed with a teasing smirk.

-0-0-0-0-0-

A soft knock to the door came after the third quake subsided.

“If that’s Ravel, give him to me,” Berrelip snarled from her seat on the floor, “I’ll rip his ears off.”

Saribel rolled her eyes and rose from the spot across from her sister to answer the knocking.

“You get earthquakes a lot?” The woman on the other side asked. Saribel squinted at her for several moments before recognizing her as one of the soldiers of House Baenre. “I have this for you,” the heavily-armored woman said offering up a small, folded piece of parchment.

“Matron Quenthel has already sent word back?” Saribel asked, confused. She took the tiny parcel and unfolded it.

“Back?” The soldier asked, “The Matron has heard nothing from Gauntlgrym recently. This message has been sent to all priestesses in this area. I don’t know what it concerns, though, priestess.”

Saribel scowled at the fighter, then again at her sister across the room, before looking at the message on the parchment in her hands. Her eyes widened, nearly bursting from her skull. “Leave.” She told the soldier, slamming the door on the girl. The priestess crossed the room to her sister offering up the letter with a nearly breathless, “You aren’t going to believe this.”

Berrelip read through the message and suppressed a laugh, “She can’t be serious. There’s no way.”

“This doesn’t seem like a joke, sister.” Saribel said.

“Why _alive_ though? Dead is so much easier.” Berrelip asked, watching her sister bustle about the room, getting ready to wander the complex in search of their idiot brother. Eventually, Berrelip shrugged her shoulders and rose to do the same.


	15. The Raven's Conspiracy

Conrad clapped his hands slowly, “Truly,” he said, taunting, “I didn’t think an insufferable little tart like you was good for much of anything in my line of work.” He paused briefly when she shoved her staff in his face, but made an effort not to let it bother him. “You didn’t work alone though, so I have to wonder how you united the other troublemakers. Was it the girl? It was the girl wasn’t it?”

Dahlia cracked her staff against the ground. She wasn’t sure if it was the noise or the spark of electricity shooting across the wood that silenced him, but was glad that his grating voice wasn’t pounding in her head anymore. “You threw me in a cell, you didn’t expect me to try and get out?” she laughed sarcastically, “I’m surprised you thought you could do something like that and get away with your life.”

The guildmaster took a turn to laugh, “Oh, please, spare me your idle threats. My guards will take out your little henhouse of wannabe fighters and then come to my aid.”

“Their aid won’t do you any good when you’re dead.”

Metal rang against metal in the hall outside the door.

“It’s cute how tough you think you are,” he sighed, “I’ll give you and your girls a chance to get out of this alive. Surrender now and my men will put down their weapons.”

Dahlia narrowed her eyes, “And what would you do with us?”

“Put you back in your safe little cages where you belong.”

The elf rolled her eyes. “’Safe?’ Cages with exploding doors, isolation, and imprisonment that only ends when we subject ourselves to abuse are considered safe? I’d hate to see what you would deem ‘dangerous’.”

“What you call ‘abuse’ I call ‘purpose’” he explained, “If you little ladies would be willing to see your place in the world the cages would not be necessary.” He ran a hand through his hair, “Little women like you aren’t cut out to be much of anything, delicate flowers that you are. I’m just trying to give you a place in this harsh world of ours where you don’t have to place yourselves in situations you can’t handle-“

Dahlia cracked her staff against the door just beside Conrad’s head, “The only person incapable of handling his situation, Conrad, is you. Some birds don’t do well in cages.” She pulled her staff back to her side, “And you know what those birds do to their handlers when they are set free.”

She swung again, this time aiming to hit, but he ducked under the blow and took a few quick steps to close the gap between them, attempting to tackle her to the floor. Dahlia saw the move coming, spinning out of his path with the momentum of her swing.

Their positions reversed, Conrad drew his weapon, “I’ll have them all killed,” he threatened.

Dahlia spat at him.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Hours she had been standing there. _Hours._ With a disgruntled sigh, she leaned against the doorframe, arms folded across her chest, finger tapping an impatient rhythm against the crook of her elbow. The illusionist watched the old warlock bustle around, snapping at apprentices to get busy to prepare for their soon-to-be prisoner and gathering supplies for his own journey. Occasionally he spared a glance to an empty spot beside his desk where her projected image of annoyance no doubt bore down on him.

“ _Today,_ Draygo,” she said firmly as the last of the apprentices scurried out, “Our window of opportunity for your goose-chase is rapidly closing.”

He shot her a harsh glare at the statement, but didn’t give her a response.

She laughed, “I don’t see what the big deal with this Chosen thing is anyway? Do we really need to be anchored in Faerun? Is this really the guy we want doing it? I mean, given what happened last time-“

He was actively scowling at her image when she stopped talking, and the Shifter fought a laugh at seeing him stare at an empty spot in the air with such contempt. “Are we leaving?” She asked; amusement obvious.

“Yes,” Quick said, sharp edge in his voice. He swept past her, through the door and down the hallway. She fell into step behind him, following the warlock to the usual place they set up their little portals; nervous apprentices scattered from their path. “I don’t appreciate,” Draygo said over his shoulder as they went, “Your lack of respect for the task at hand.”

“I respect the task at hand,” the illusionist corrected, “What I do not respect is being made to stand idle when I tell you we need to be on our way. If anyone here should be angry it should be me for your lack of urgency about a task you have placed so much weight on.”

The shade snorted, but let the argument slide, devoting his energy to opening a portal to Neverwinter.

“Let us be quick,” The Shifter said, more to herself than to Draygo, “I grow tired of this Chosen business.”

-0-0-0-0-0-

Conrad had stuck first, the steel of his ornate sword clanged loudly against Kozah’s Needle. Dahlia didn’t even try to hide the grin that spread across her face. She broke the staff into three pieces, firmly holding the center pole and sending the two flails spinning and taking no small amount of amusement in the alarmed expression that flashed across Conrad’s face when he thought she wasn’t looking.

She’d knocked greater fighters than him back on their heels with this weapon. For a moment she remembered her first encounter with a man she would later know as Artemis Entreri; his baffled handling of the fight and inexperience with exotic weaponry ultimately forcing a retreat. The moment of nostalgia cost her, and the guildmaster managed to slip his blade past her defenses, nicking the exposed skin of her shoulder.

A feral growl and Dahlia laid into him, breaking the center staff apart and sidestepping about the man in a close circle. The tight space between them forced him to keep his blade close making any chance at counterattack awkward and nearly impossible. She cracked him across the face with one of the flails and sent him sprawling on the ground, his sword clattering away.

“I expected more of a fight from you,” She taunted, standing over him and digging a heel into his ribs, “I guess you’re just all talk.” She snapped Kozah’s Needle back into a single, eight foot pole.

Conrad tried to pull a dagger from his belt. She stomped on his wrist with a sickening crunch and laughed at him when he howled. He refused to give up though, responding to her laughter with another dagger that narrowly missed her thigh.

He scrambled to his feet as soon as he could pull his broken wrist free from her boot and started screaming for his guards to aid him.

“Aww,” Dahlia sighed, “Big man can’t take on the little woman all on his own?” She swung her staff in a wide arch, forcing him to jump back to avoid it.

Conrad growled at her, swollen, darkening bruise warping the enraged expression on his face. “You little bitch.” He flipped the dagger over in his hand and cocked his arm to throw, “Sounds like your friends aren’t doing so well out there.”

“They aren’t my friends.” She swung the staff again, changing her grip at the end of the arch and ramming the butt of her staff toward him, adding to the force with a few quick steps forward.

-0-0-0-0-0-

The weaker branches, and sometimes even whole trees, feel about them as they ran through Neverwinter Wood. Shaky on their own feet, none of the six companions trusted their mounts, even though it added to the length and toll of the hike. They stopped, panting and threatening to topple over with the quaking of the earth outside the cave leading to the outer tunnels of Gauntlgrym. The dwarves leaned heavily against the stone for balance, Effron nearly toppled into Afafrenfere, but managed to catch himself; the monk laughed quietly with a comment about how their early-morning training sessions were starting to pay off. Drizzt couldn’t help but notice that it was the same tunnel he’d collapsed in only a few days before.

_Let’s see if I can drop you again._

Drizzt tried desperately to shake off the voice and coughed around the smell of smoke.

“Drizzt?” Effron called, and looked as if he had been calling for some time if the concerned looks all around him were anything to go by.

“You still with us?” Artemis asked, looking more annoyed than concerned for a moment and shaking the ranger’s shoulder gently.

Several heartbeats passed as Drizzt collected himself; he struggled to drown out the sounds of animals running for cover, the crackling of imagined fire, and grating laughter. He ground his teeth and forced himself to focus.

They planned out their attack; opting to sneak in during what would no doubt be equal parts confusion and evacuation attempt and snag someone in a position of power over the complex; preferably Ravel Xorlarrin. The dwarves offered to take up the lead, wanting to bust some drow heads. Afafrenfere offered to scout ahead, which left Effron in the middle and Drizzt and Artemis to take up the rear flanks.

The group set into motion as soon as they could, not bothering to ask the obvious, unnerving questions about what they would do if the primordial was nearly free, or if it was freed while they were in there.

They were only a short way into the complex before Artemis felt a nervous hand wrap about his arm and pull him into a side tunnel. The assassin let himself be pulled, thinking the ranger saw something, only to realize his mistake when they stopped abruptly a few paces away and the dark elf pulled him into a tight hug; willowy arms squeezing so tightly about his middle it nearly pushed the breath out of him.

“Drizzt, this isn’t-“ the ranger began to release him as he spoke, a hand hovered at his belt a bit too long, and Artemis immediately picked up on the message. “Drizzt-“

“Don’t,” Drizzt shushed him, “Just, please, do this for me? If something happens and I…” Artemis saw the slight shaking in the elf’s clenched jaw, “I’d never be able to forgive myself.”

The human felt a weight settle in his chest that tried to pull him to the ground. He let the ranger pull him into another tight hug. “You’re going to be alright,” he whispered in spite of himself, and just kept repeating the phrase over and over until Drizzt finally silenced him with a harsh, shaky kiss. They broke apart, shaky and nervous. “We shouldn’t be here,” Artemis said firmly.

“Don’t make this more difficult,” Drizzt pleaded, “I have to try. If… something happens I know you and the others can hold your own against me, and I’d rather be surrounded by enemies than civilians when that happens. I know you can take me on, and with the others I… I know you can lay me low if you have to.”

The assassin felt as though he’d fallen off a horse. “Is… is _that_ why-?”

“Yes.” Drizzt said quickly. “Yes, don’t- Please…” he tried to form a coherent plea but only wound up whimpering softly.

Artemis pulled him in close. “You’re going to be alright,” he said again. “Maybe not for a while, but you will be eventually.” They stayed like that for a few moments before pulling apart again with a few steady breaths. The human stepped closer for a slow, comforting kiss before whispering, “We need to catch up with the others.”

The ranger nodded slowly, “Let’s go.”

A moment of nervous hesitation passed, and they set off after their group at a jog, claiming to have been checking a side tunnel when questioned about their whereabouts, Artemis trying to hide a concerned glance at Drizzt as they offered the explanation.

-0-0-0-0-0-

He was holding his own, but growing weaker as their fight dragged on. His dominant hand lay limp at his side, the other holding a puny dagger in his defense, and his voice couldn’t carry over the sounds of fighting outside the small office.  Dahlia just kept tormenting him, never laying into him fully or showing the strength of her arm; she let him get close and then knocked him back and away, cackling all the while.

“You should have known better,” she teased, “You should have killed me instead of locking me in a cell.”

Conrad spat a wad of blood and, and possibly a tooth, from his bruised and bleeding mouth. “You can kill me, but one of these days a man is going to put you in your place, face down in his bed and leave you there to rot.”

A spark struck flame inside Dahlia, and the game was over. She started her onslaught anew, landing hit after hit to his exposed limbs and his face when she got the opportunity until he was curled in a defensive ball on the floor. She kicked his ribs, turning him onto his back and slammed the butt of her staff against his chest right above his heart. With a snarl she called on the magic and ended as she’d ended so many others.

She felt less for this one than the ones that came before. She felt numb as she watched his twitching slow to a stop. She felt cold as she set her staff down, retrieved Conrad’s sword, and placed the steel to his throat.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Saribel had to bark her orders to be heard over the rumbling of the tunnels and thunderous clamor of falling stones, “I want him alive! He will no doubt come to aid the people topside, and we will take him.”

The soldiers shifted uncomfortably.

“Kill his friends,” Saribel continued, uncaring for the fear her men held for the primordial and its weakening prison, “and make sure they are dead. Watch the light leave their eyes, take their hearts if you have to. But the ranger must be brought to me alive. Do this, and you will be free to leave Gauntlgrym.”

The men, knowing they had no say in the decision, saluted the priestess and set off to patrol the complex.

She tapped her foot impatiently, watching them leave. “Where is Ravel?” she asked the empty space. After a moment she realized there was only one place he could be, and groaned loudly. “Who am I kidding; I know where the idiot is.” She stepped down from the small platform she’d used to address the men and set off across the complex.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Talim and Sasani jumped at the sound of a voice behind them. They’d been backed nearly to the wall by guards that seemed to just keep coming. Rin had fallen back a bit to protect the youngest of their group, but it seemed like it was senseless.

“Enough!” The voice shouted again. The guards, stunned at what they were seeing behind the rickety wall of women, began to lower their weapons.

Dahlia stood in the doorway, stained sword in one hand, severed head held by the scalp in the other, blood up to her elbows. “Your guild is mine now,” she shouted, “you answer to me.” One guard attempted to speak out against her and immediately her arm flexed as if she was going to throw Conrad’s severed head at him and the young man scurried to the back of the room. “Drop your keys on the floor and leave. You can return tomorrow and might consider enlisting you in _my_ guild. Understood?” The men stared at her dumbly until she roared over the murmurs and doubtful noised, “You can either do as I say or join him,” she lifted Conrad’s head high above her own, “on my mantle.”

The men dropped their keys to the cells throughout the guildhouse on the floor in a cacophonous clatter of iron on wood and darted away en masse. When the hall was clear, Dahlia led the women that had helped her get this far into Conrad’s office, casually tossing the head across the room as she moved to sit on a clear portion of the guildmaster’s desk. She watched the others file in, scanning the disheveled room as they found places to stand and shut the door behind them.

They shared a moment of victorious joy. They were free and had conquered as they earned that freedom. They laughed, kicked Conrad’s beheaded corpse on the floor, and proceeded to raid the place for useful things and valuables, praising Dahlia and her leadership all the while.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Most of the outer tunnels leading to the surface were clear and the six companions managed a sprint toward the forges and the primordial’s chamber. Whatever was happening, the dark elves were on edge, or gone from the complex entirely. The idea of the drow evacuating Gauntlgrym left them all nervous about what lay ahead.

They were forced into a single-file line by narrow passage for a while, the shaking in the ground had lightened up enough that the dwarves didn’t pump into the walls as they progressed, but they still pitched and rolled dangerously; forward into Afafrenfere and backward into Effron.

When the group made it to an open area Effron shoved Ambergris forward with a grunt, “perhaps we should put the dwarves on wheels so they can move more smoothly,” Which earned him an angry glance from the stock, diminutive fighters in front of him. “What? It’s true, and we wound have to risk broken feet for it.”

Artemis pushed the warlock onward, “Broken feet, hands, and noses come with the territory when traveling with dwarves,” he sighed giving a pointed look at Athrogate.

“Oh, _one time!_ ” Athrogate shouted back and was immediately shushed.

 “I recall more than one occasion,” Jarlaxle’s voice wafted over to them from a shadowy side-passage.

“No. No, no, no! Not this again,” Artemis turned around, heading back the way they’d come, but stopped when Drizzt grabbed him by the arm and whispered something to him.

“Settle down, Artemis,” Jarlaxle laughed, raising his hands, “I’m not staying. But it has been brought to my attention that your group had come to stop the primordial.” He turned to Drizzt then, and watched him closely enough that all of the ranger’s companions took noticed. Even after Drizzt answered with a firm “We are,” the mercenary kept his eye trained on him, occasionally scanning his entire person. As the heartbeats dragged on something changed in the expression, half hidden behind the brim of his hat, but none present could place what it was.

“I can help you with that,” Jarlaxle said after some time, “I have a way for you to stop its escape.” He pulled a small disc at the end of a chain from a breast pocket in his vest. “This.”

He held it out to Drizzt, but Effron swept up between them and took it. The young warlock examined it closely for a few seconds, eyes narrowed, brow low. “I’ve seen this symbol before,” he mumbled, running his thumb across the design on the face of the disc “but I can’t place it.” He looked pointedly at Jarlaxle, “Where did you get this?”

“From a reliable source,” The drow replied.

Effron didn’t seem convinced, but shrugged his shoulder and asked, “How does it work?”

Jarlaxle explained it to him, emphasizing the limited time span and need for urgency, all the while casting disconcerting looks at Drizzt. “I’d love to stay,” he laughed at the end of his little lecture, “and I know you’d love to have me around,” Artemis huffed loudly, “but I have an acquisition to make.” With that, he swept back the way he’d come, gone before anyone could stop him.

Effron tucked the talisman into a fold in his robes.

“Well,” Ambergris said with a nervous laugh, “at least now we have somethin’ to do about this.”

The rest of the group hesitantly agreed and continued down their path to the primordial, fast approaching what had been the most populated portion of the complex. They readied their weapons and fell into a tight formation.

Drizzt fell back a bit. When Artemis turned to check on him, the ranger forced himself forward, but there was little he could do for the glassy look in his eyes.

“We’re all going to die,” the assassin muttered under his breath, jogging to keep up.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Catherine fell.

Dahlia had been dividing the tasks involved in taking over the guild with Talim, when they heard the heavy _whomp_ of a body hitting the floor immediately followed by Glenda shouting. They turned, and Sasani had already taken up the task of assessing the injuries, tearing at the woman’s bloodstained tunic to find the still-open wound.

It was deep cut at the top of her belly, and despite Sasani, Glenda, and ultimately Talim’s best efforts, the bleeding refused to stop. Eventually she stopped breathing and flow of blood slowed to a trickle, and then ceased entirely.

“No,” Glenda held tightly to the dead woman, and sobbed softly, “No. We got so far.”

Talim shook her head, rising to rejoin Dahlia at the guildmaster’s desk. Sasani tried to pry the girl from the corpse of her friend.

“No!” Glenda screamed, swiping at the mage with a bright red hand, “Get away from me!”

“Settle down girl,” Dahlia sighed, “she’s _dead._ You don’t need to defend her.”

The girl shot a teary-eyed glare at Dahlia, “How can you be so callous? She helped you! She helped all of us, and lost her life for it. She deserves to be mourned, she was my _friend_.”

Dahlia rolled her eye, unamused, “Mourning means nothing, and does no good for anyone. It traps you in the past. Whether she was your friend, your enemy, your parent or even your _lover_ , sitting at her side and crying and wishing she was alive serves no purpose. She knew the risk of this endeavor, and chose to go through with it with the rest of us, and she did prevail. That is all.”

Glenda’s lip curled in a petulant snarl, but words did not come to her.

“We have to move on,” Dahlia said to the group, “to be honest, I’m surprised anyone survived at all. We have a guild to start rebuilding and other prisoners to free. I want you two to go through the cells,” she pointed to Talim and Sasani as she spoke, “Release the girls; any that may prove useful, send to me, otherwise let them return to their homes or at least make the attempt. We’ll need to open a new cover business. I refuse to take over Conrad’s brothel.”

“It should be a tavern,” Glenda offered with a sniffle still glaring at Dahlia, “There are a lot of tavern maids, and we keep a good portion of the girls.”

“A few gambling tables could bring in extra income while we take on members and mercenaries,” Talim agreed.

“We’ll need to call it something else,” Glenda said, “Conrad’s name is on the door.”

Sasani smiled, “We should name it for the Raven,” she clapped Dahlia on the shoulder and offered, “The Raven’s Conspiracy.”

Talim snapped her fingers, “I like the sound that.”

Dahlia nodded curtly, “So do I.”

Sasani and Talim set about the task laid out for them. Glenda sat with Rin as the woman’s body cooled on the floor. After several moments she stood, approaching Dahlia.

“You know,” the girl said with a sniffle, “people don’t mourn because it serves accomplishes any sort of task. They do it because losing the people that become part of your life leaves a wound. A terrible rent where that person used to be. My mother used to say that if you fill that rent with tears it’s… easier to cross than when it’s just… empty.” She wiped her tear streaked face with the back of her hand leaving a bright red mark on her cheek. “But I suppose when you spend your life at the bottom of one of those chasms it doesn’t matter how easy or difficult they are to cross now, does it?”

Before Dahlia could respond, the girl turned sharply on her heel and left the room. Leaving the elf right where she had expected to be, the same place she’d been for ages; alone and surrounded by death.

-0-0-0-0-0-

His head was pounding.

The thud of his heartbeat in his ears managed to drown out some of the excess noise, though, and he was thankful for that, even if the pain made him uneasy on his feet. The smell of smoke nearly choked him and something scratched in his throat; moving on the back of his tongue and nearly making him retch.

_How long do you think you can hang on?_

Drizzt tried to suck in a breath through his nose and was left coughing and feeling like he’d inhaled water. He pressed a hand to face and came away with a smear of blood on his knuckles.

“Oh no…” hastily, he wiped the blood from his nose and lip.

“Drizzt?” Artemis’s voice, it sounded so far away.

“I’m okay,” he said, breathless, “I’m okay.”

The assassin hovered around him for a time anyway.

_He can’t save you, you know._

Drizzt growled and stubbornly put one foot in front of the other. When this was over, he vowed to himself, when they saved Neverwinter again, he would leave himself at the mercy of the group. He would go wherever they decided to take him, endure whatever help they thought he should receive. He’d even drink that weird tea Ambergris had made for Effron when the warlock lost his arm if they thought it what help. And he would make things right with Artemis, reward the man for the burden he’d taken on by staying with him. He would do all of it, if he made it through this day.

The voice in his ear just laughed.

Voices and scrambling footsteps echoed off the walls as they approached the chamber housing the forges. “Guards,” Afafrenfere said, signaling the group to stay low and quiet. “A small army of them.”

“Damn,” Entreri sighed.

Athrogate rapped him on the shoulder. “We’ll clear a path. Ye two and the finger-waggler can handle the primordial.”

Effron nodded, Artemis and Drizzt looked to each other.

“I think I should go alone,” Entreri said to the ranger.

Drizzt sighed heavily, “You go, I’ll cover you.”

“Are you sure?” Artemis dropped his voice low enough that only Drizzt could hear him.

“I’ve got you.”

_No you don’t._

Artemis nodded, turning to the rest of the group as they laid out their plan of attack.

Drizzt could feel his hand shaking as he pulled his bow from his shoulder and didn’t realize how blurry his vision had become until the group came up on the soldiers collected about the forges. He took several steadying breaths, knocking an arrow and taking aim. He heard Effron comment about hanging back and covering Afafrenfere and the dwarves along with Drizzt’s arrows and wait for Entreri to find a path.

_Struggle, little ranger, see how long you can last._

Drizzt picked off a few stragglers and the dwarves roared into battle.

Laughter grated in his ears, tightening his throat and chest.

He whimpered softly, trying to find more targets to shoot in his frustration and pain. He spotted a priestess in the back and tried desperately to take aim on her, but his hands were shaking, and the pounding in his head intensified. As he let fly a rumble in the ground pitched him forward, the shot flew wide and he tumbled to the ground in darkness.


	16. Chosen Heretic

Flames licked at the hems of his robes and Ravel Xorlarrin was forced to take a step back. Nervous, he cast his gaze into the swirling, angry creature, but barely got more than an eyeful of hot steam. The creature was close to escaping now; enraged and reaching for him.

The sounds of combat erupted in a nearby chamber and, briefly, he wondered if they might offer some assistance. He wanted to go, to see what they had come to offer; perhaps even going far enough to call off the guards and ensure these heroes had the best opportunity for success in their mission to protect the surfacers.

But, fear kept him planted in his spot, watching the swirling blaze, hoping in spite of himself that help would come before the raging inferno swallowed him whole.

He cursed himself for not being more careful.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

While most of the tunnels had been empty as the group of six traversed the once-abandoned complex of Gauntlgrym, the forge chamber was nearly full to bursting. The dwarves, expecting a large force took up the point of the charge long before they even reached the last tunnel, and Afafrenfere took up a strategic place behind them. Artemis, wanting desperately to take up his normal position in the shadows found himself lingering in the light, watching his ill companion more than the path they were taking. He was slipping, Artemis could tell, and knot of worry tied itself about his stomach. Drizzt might fall again, and it may be in the worst of scenarios.

The gathering of guards was as large as Afafrenfere said it would be when he’d come back from scouting ahead, and they were ready for the group of adventurers. As soon as they entered the chamber, dark elves descended upon them, opening with a quick volley of hand crossbow bolts that swarmed about the dwarves like a black cloud of insects.

“Your poisoned elf sting,”Athrogate laughed, itching for the fight and pulling broken bolts out of his beard, “Must have some flaw. For I don’t feel a thing!”

Entreri, despite the setting and the urgency of the fight commencing around him could not stop himself from shouting “You have got to be kidding me,” and turning a pointed glare on the dwarf. The look could have weakened a lesser man’s knees, if not knocked him from his feet altogether, but the dwarf simply offered his companion a hearty, “ _Bwahaha_ ” and barreled into the throng of dark elves alongside the party’s cleric. Artemis groaned loudly in frustration.

Dark elves at the front of the pack immediately toppled under the ferocity of the dwarven charge; if not from swinging weapons, then from the rolling boulders that were the diminutive warriors themselves. Immediately, the bulk of the attention turned to the two powerhouses in the center, darts and steel flying and spinning against armor and bludgeoning weapons. The monk and the assassin took the diversion to dart off on either side, flanking the collection of drow and disappearing into the throng, leaving Effron and Drizzt alone at the entrance to cover the fighters as they cleared a path.

Athrogate came in fast, with a fury only an ancient dwarf defending his homeland might know. He ducked, alarmingly quick, under Skullbreaker’s wide arch and came up, twirling morningstar leading, beside the cleric. They worked together, wide swings of Ambergris’s mace contrasting the short bashes of Athrogate’s weapons, moving until they were back to back. With a hearty guffaw, Athrogate called on the magic of his flails, oil of impact coating the spiked heads ready to explode when it collided with the chest of an unwitting dark elf and sending the poor, unfortunate soul flying backward into his kin. He heard Ambergris laugh heartily behind him, and offered the lady a nod. She called him an arrogant boar and slammed her mace into an arm that got a bit too close for comfort.

Another elf slipped past his spinning flails and a dark bolt knocked him backwards before Athrogate had a chance to strike him down. The dwarf spun a bit just in time to see Effron, wand drawn, turning away and felling another foe.

“I may not like him much, but he’s a hell of a shot.” The dwarf heard Ambergris say.

“Yeah, the finger-wagglers have their uses sometimes,” he replied.

They laughed together, moving away from the growing pile of falling enemies, and blocking enchanted steel as they tore down elf after elf that came to ferociously stand against them.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Afafrenfere ducked under the blade the elf swung at him and took a moment, little more than the bat of an eye, to take in his surroundings. The dwarves would have no problem with the cloak and dagger fodder sent after them in waves, especially with Drizzt and Effron aiding them from afar. He spotted a priestess, standing high above the ranks, but knew Artemis would be on her in heartbeats, and best leave the assassinations to the assassin.

So the monk bore in on the spellspinners, standing far from the main ranks, protected by archers and few fighters of their own.

With a few long strides, he gained momentum, spinning through and occasionally jumping and flipping over the elves entirely with a grace that rivaled the elven heritage of his enemies. A few broke off to intercept them, but they were quick work; a swift, perfectly aimed kick to knock the blade high, and swipe low to pull their feet from under them. He followed with a flurry of blows breaking through barely-there defenses with fists, elbows, and knees coming from every angle possible.

The archers took notice of him then, lining up their shots to turn the monk into a pincushion. He was too quick for them though, nimbly dodging the bulk of them, and even picking a few out of the air to use on the fighters that so stubbornly tried to get close to him.

He plowed through the archers as easily as he may have trudged through snow, the elves scrambling to ready themselves for close quarters combat. Something called to him, a voice, sad and familiar.

Parbid?

He spun, keeping his foes in sight but trying to find the source of the noise as well.

Parbid stood, pale-faced and bloodied a few feet away from him. “You traitor,” he panted, a wet rattling sound, “You _traitor_.”

Afafrenfere blinked stupidly at the man for a moment, he felt his guard slipping. He wanted to argue, but no words came.

“He _killed me!_ ” Parbid shouted, “He killed me and now you’re defending him! I thought you cared for me!”

The monk felt his heart breaking. He tried to move to closer to the other man, drawn to him.

A streak of silver light shot across his vision, exploding against the ground in front of him and forcing him to jump back and whirl toward its source. He knew the bolt to be one of Drizzt’s arrows, but when he looked to the entrance, the ranger was nowhere to be seen and Effron, looking panicked, was ducking down to a spot beside him.

Afafrenfere returned his attention to the space in front of him, only to find it was empty, the illusion broken. He gave a quick shout to Entreri, turning on his heel. The elves were nearly on him then, the spellspinners’ hands moving, archers trained on him.

“Damn,” the monk hissed, diving out of the way.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Effron saw the rogue bolt out of the corner of his eye. Confused, he turned to Drizzt, only to find that the drow had collapsed. A tremor of fear shook him as he shot off a few bolts from his wand to buy himself time to check his friend for injuries.

When he knelt down and placed a hand on Drizzt’s shoulder, the ranger groaned softly. Well, at least he was alive. The warlock rolled the elf onto his back; no visible injuries, that was a good sign.

Effron slipped the wand back into a loop on his belt and pulled his staff from the holster across his back. He stood, swinging the weapon as he did and clipping a fighter that had slipped from ball of dwarven destruction in the jaw and sent him sprawling. He swung the staff a few more times, knocking back the fighters that got too close. A cry rose up among the drow, and they closed in on him more fiercely.

Drizzt was their target, he knew.

The warlock banged the end of his staff against the ground, calling on the magic to raise the fallen elves to defend him. A flash of light in the vicinity of the dwarves made him groan and call “they’re friendly!” down to the cleric, who either could not hear him, or refused to heed his words as she tore down a few more corpses before turning her mace and magic on the living.

The zombies knocked back the drow and gave Effron some room to breathe and rethink the groups plan. He couldn’t just leave Drizzt here in the fray, but he also couldn’t think of any way to transport the ranger to where they needed to go. The warlock scanned the fray, looking for a straight-shot through the forges, but found nothing he could potentially carry Drizzt through.

Fighters changed tactics to cut down the zombies more efficiently, or at least push them further into the fray. With a curse, Effron stepped back, the heel of his boot bumping against the ranger’s side as he turned, staff ready, to take on drow closing in. Training sessions with Afafrenfere were rapidly forgotten and he just swung, mostly missing but occasionally catching one with the head of his staff, the blow having enough force to knock a fighter from his feet or at least back a bit.

“Come on,” Effron pleaded, continuing to nudge the fallen ranger and scan the fray for aid, “Come on…”

Another streak of silver lit up the faces and eyes of the dark elves before him, a sharp _crack_ sounding over his shoulder. He heard a short scuffle and some pained shouts before a strong hand took hold of his arm.

“This way,” Drizzt said, stumbling a little as he tugged Effron behind him.

“Drizzt-“ The ranger drew back on his bow and fired a silver arrow into the crowd, still pulling a confused and worried Effron behind him, “Drizzt, you shouldn’t-“

“Be quick now,” Drizzt ordered. Something was off about his voice, but the warlock couldn’t quite place what.

The ranger continued to tug him into the throng of swinging blades and vicious elves. Effron could see Drizzt scanning for something in the crowd. Artemis perhaps? He wasn’t sure. Whatever it was, he found it quickly and slowed his pace; he knocked another arrow.

“Drizzt, why are we-?”

The ranger fired another arrow into the crowd, forcing it to clear. He took a quick side step, slipping inside the arch of a swinging blade to grab the small soldier by the cowl of his _pwifwi_ and throw him headlong into Effron. He darted away, magic anklets carrying him faster than the drow army could manage to keep up with, leaving Effron to fend for himself.

The drow on top of him recovered quickly, pulling a dagger from his belt. Effron tried to reach for his staff, but it had landed on his left side, well out of his reach. He shouted, praying someone would hear, flinching and primordial-enchanted steel descended toward his heart.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Fallen enemies rose around her. Instinctively, Ambergris turned her holy symbol on them and called on the strength of her god. What she got was more than a normal turning; an additional, blindingly bright flash of light not only dissolved the zombies to ash, but knocked back the dark elves invading her personal space. She heard Athrogate chuckle at her shoulder and warn her to “be more careful with that thing or ye’ll put someone’s eye out.”

“Wait,” he corrected after a second’s thought, “Actually, ye go ahead and lose control with it, let’s see how many eyes you can knock out.”

She laughed and replaced the talisman around her neck.

“They’re friendly!” she heard Effron cry over the din of battle.

Ambergris rolled her eyes and slammed Skullcrusher into the head of a zombie anyway, taking a perverse joy in the way its head exploded. Unnatural creatures, the lot of them.

She heard Effron’s voice again a short while later, calling out to Drizzt for some reason. The cleric nudged her comrade and pulled him in the direction of the shouting and bolts of electric white.

Afafrenfere dove into the fray behind him, trailing bolts of lightning and arrows in his wake. “Well,” he panted, running a hand through his mop of curls and shooting a goofy look to Ambergris, “What’s happening?”

“Dunno,” the dwarf grunted.

The trio pushed on toward the center of the fray.

-0-0-0-0-0-

She was the first one he spotted, standing high above her troops like the superior wench that she was. Artemis dove off to the side, clinging to the shadows and coming up behind stragglers in the party as he made his way to her. It was one of the head priestesses, he noted, not the one that falsely recognized him, but another, possibly her sister.

Where was the other one, then? Left with bulk of Gauntlgrym’s population, or hidden somewhere in the dense crowd?

He kept scanning the troops for the other woman, his gaze always returning to the woman on her pedestal.

Entreri was halfway to his target when Afafrenfere called out to him, breaking his concentration. Immediately his eyes went to Effron and Drizzt. Or, just Effron as it were, the tall half-teifling towering over the elves.

“No…” the assassin breathed, flipping his dagger in his hand and drawing his sword, diving headlong into the battle. Bodies of dead elves rose and blocked his path, and Artemis, impatient with concern cut them down. Only after they fell did he realize that they were Effron’s zombies, and cursed himself for his rashness.

Where did all this worry come from? This knot in his chest, the lapses in his focus and judgment, and the urgency he felt to return to the ranger’s side at the thought of Drizzt falling in battle. It made him nauseous. He took a short detour to mercilessly cut down several dark elf fighters before they even had a chance to realize they were behind him to vent the frustration building in his thoughts.

Shots of light pierced the crowd and at first Artemis thought Effron was casting lightning into the ranks.

Only after a moment’s thought did Artemis realize he’d never seen Effron cast any magic of his own that wasn’t from that damnable wand of his.

More shots and he realized it was Drizzt firing Taulmaril. “Drizzt, why are we-“ Artemis heard Effron attempt to ask before cutting off with a sharp shout. Another silver arrow streaked past the assassin nearly hitting him as it passed, the ranger following close behind it, offering Artemis a pointed look.

Entreri didn’t miss it, or the malevolent glow in Drizzt’s lavender eyes. He snarled after the drow, but dashed to help Effron, who was in immediate danger. Not wanting to waste any time Artemis grabbed hold of the foot soldier’s arm as it came down, plunging his dagger into the elf’s side, and then again into the dark skin of his throat, before tossing the body aside and helping the one-armed warlock to his feet.

“What happened?” Artemis asked, his question echoed seconds later when the remaining three members of their group joined them. They collected in a tight formation, their backs together, their weapons ready.

“Drizzt took off,” Effron panted, “Something’s wrong, he’s not himself.”

Artemis sighed, “No, he isn’t. I saw him.”

“What do we do?” Afafrenfere half-whimpered.

“Cover me,” Artemis said, “Keep them busy, I’ll go get him.” He broke off from the group, “Effron, if I’m not back shortly, you and Afafrenfere go on with mission at hand. Let’s finish this awful business.”

The two young men nodded affirmatively, and the assassin took off along the same path the ranger had taken.

“Why do I get the feelin’” Ambergris shouted after the assassin left them, “that this isn’t goin’ to end well?”

-0-0-0-0-0-

Ravel took a few steps back from the raging heat of the primordial. He wiped beads of sweat from his brow with the hem of his sleeve. Steam billowed up from the whirlpool like smoke on a brush fire and the roaring quake that shook the chamber threatened to throw the spellspinner from his feet.

Soft footsteps approached behind him, and took all Ravel had not to groan, “Don’t test me, Saribel,” he warned, “I am not in the mood for games today.”

“I am not your priestess,” a distinctly male voice said behind him.

The Xorlarrin spun around to face the intruder, list of spells ticking through his head and his hands immediately setting into a spinning pattern. He stopped short though, when he saw the face of his visitor.

Drizzt Do’Urden stood just inside the entrance, his bow drawn but loose in his hand and soft smile on his face. Ravel felt himself relax instantly.

“You must be here about the primordial,” he said, trying to keep the desperate edge from his voice. “Your allies must be here too… You have a plan, right? I can call off the guards if need be.”

The smile on the ranger’s face widened a bit and Ravel’s muscles tightened a bit.

“Oh, yes. I am here about your little ancient elemental problem,” he said, closing the gap between them and ultimately passing him altogether. He peered into the whirlpool, “My, you’ve done some damage.”

Ravel sighed, “I know.” He couldn’t hide his desperation any longer, “What do you plan to do? How do you plan to help me?” He nearly corrected himself, but stopped short when the ranger draped an arm about his shoulders. Something sank in the spellspinner’s chest, he tried to pull away but his limited strength was no match for the battle hardened ranger.

“My plan, Ravel,” Drizzt laughed in his native tongue, “is to put someone a bit more competent in charge.”

The caster started a spell, but before he could even try to string any form of magic together the elf tightened his grip, pushing him forward. With a rough shove, he cast Ravel over the edge and into the fire.

The quaking lessened considerably and the drow smiled to himself as he took a step back and slinging Taulmaril over his shoulder.

A strong hand grabbed his wrist and twisted, forcing the ranger to turn around and face the angry visage of Artemis Entreri.

“What are you doing?” the assassin growled, masking concern with anger. “Are you mad?”

The human let Drizzt wrench his arm from the grip, but not before dropping the bow. He watched the elf take a few steps backward, smirk still pulling at the corner of his mouth like a child who knows a very damning secret. “Come now, Artemis,” he said, his accent thicker than Entreri had ever heard it before, “We both know what this is.”

Artemis straightened his back a bit and let his lip curl up in a snarl, “Who are you? What are you trying to accomplish?”

Drizzt, or rather the man wearing Drizzt’s face, laughed; a soft, mocking sound that clawed at the inside of Entreri’s chest, “Oh? You really don’t know? That doesn’t surprise me, really. I am the Chosen.” He bowed slightly as if the title were some sort of honor, “That is, the Chosen of Lolth, and I am restoring the balance of power here in Gauntlgrym. You see this is what happens when the priestesses let men rule over large projects.” He gestured to the raging primordial, “They get careless.”

Artemis stopped listening at the Spider Queen’s name; his blood was cold in his veins and pounding in his ears, chest, and throat.

The drow laughed, “Artemis, please. Don’t act so shocked, it’s unbecoming.”

The assassin steeled himself, “What now, Chosen?” he asked. “You plan to go Menzoberranzan? The Baenres? What happens when Drizzt returns?”

“He won’t be doing that,” a dark laugh, “not where he is.”

Something about the tone, that mocking arrogant air, coupled with anger and concern and other strangely disconcerting emotions swirling in the human, set him off and he swung wildly at the drow. His fist managed to scrape the drow’s cheek, but not collide with any impact.

“Oh?” the ranger laughed, “You’re going to hit me?” The elf returned the strike and Artemis only narrowly managed to avoid it.

-0-0-0-0-0-

The group of four managed to skirt their way to the entrance of the primordial chamber with a concerted effort. Effron brought a new round of undead up to hold off the troops.

“Go,” Afafrenfere took him by the belt and pushed him into the room, “Call if Entreri can’t help you, but let’s go and be done with this.” His breath was coming up short and cut on his arm had started to bleed badly. The dwarves seemed to be tiring as well.

For a moment, Effron remembered the battle at Ashenglade how close they’d come to failure.

The warlock turned and dashed into the chamber, holstering his staff and drawing his wand as he checked the talisman in his sleeve.

He hoped Jarlaxle’s words were true.

Effron stopped short only a few paces in. Drizzt and Artemis not too far away, trading blows silhouetted against the bright yellow light of the primordial and shrouded in the steaming fog. There were no guards. No dark elves at all, in fact, beside Drizzt. Effron felt anxiety claw at his throat.

Something was wrong here.

He took a few steps closer, careful not to draw attention to himself. Drizzt tackled Artemis, pinning him to the ground, and Effron forsook stealth, firing a dark bolt at the ranger’s shoulder. It only grazed the elf, doing more damage to his equipment than his person, knocking his quiver and his cloak free. The fabric drifted into the fire, the arrows clattered to the stone, and the drow fell back and away with sharp noise. Effron took the opening to come up to the assassin, “What-“

A sharp pain bloomed between his shoulders and he fell to the ground. Effron tried to rise, but a black net fell over him, “No-“

Drizzt seemed to be in similar straits, black net and all. “Entreri!” he shouted, but Artemis only growled in response.

“Not quite, Master Do’Urden,” a familiar voice laughed.

“Draygo!” Effron tried not to scream, but it came out anyway. A not-so-gentle hand hoisted him up by the net and his sleeve. The warlock turned to see the Shifter standing at his side.

“Two in one trip,” she laughed, “This wasn’t completely-“ She paused a moment, adjusting her grip on Effron’s arm, “Did you gain weight?” she chided. Effron only snarled at her.

Draygo chose to pin Drizzt down under his boot instead of lifting him to his feet, “Now, will you come quietly this time, O Chosen One?”

Drizzt laughed.

“Release him,” Entreri shouted, clamoring to his feet and readying his sword, his dagger dropped too far for his immediate reach, “Release him now, Draygo.”

The old warlock laughed, “Now, now, Barrabus. Dark times are coming, and I have every right to be as prepared as everyone else.”

Entreri rushed him, “Don’t call me that name,” he snarled.

Quick was gone, a puff of dark smoke where he and his prisoner once stood. The assassin whirled in his spot to the Shifter and Effron, he dropped his sword and took up Drizzt’s bow, readying a shot. He only managed to get one off before the woman disappeared with her prisoner, and missed; his shot almost hilariously wide.

He cursed in a variety of languages, retrieving his weapons and retreating from the lip of the primordial’s pit. When he ran out of vulgar words to say, he called for the others to join him.

They were already giving ground, Effron’s army of undead falling uselessly before throng of soldiers.

“We have to retreat,” the assassin ordered.

“What?” The dwarves shouted in unison.

“Effron and Drizzt have been captured,” Entreri explained, leading the retreat over the bridge and toward the control lever’s chamber, “I’ll explain more when we’re safe.”

Seeing no other options, the group sprinted behind him.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Jarlaxle caught Kimmuriel watching the drama unfold from an alcove above the primordial chamber, and silently watched beside him until Saribel called her troops to hault the pursuit of Drizzt’s allies. “The ranger is not with them,” she called, “they are no longer priority.”

The men seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief at that and were ordered to collect the dead.

“That was a surprising turn,” Kimmuriel said softly when the din finally died down.

“It was,” Jarlaxle agreed.

“I’m going to assume most of those were my allies,” the psionist sighed. When Jarlaxle only laughed he turned to face him, “I didn’t know you were going to fight so hard for a guild you barely even participate in. I thought you wanted to go to the surface freely, absent of responsibility.”

Jarlaxle smiled wickedly, “I will go about my business freely, but the guild will still be mine. I built it, I nurtured it, and it will belong to me until I am long dead, and perhaps for some time after.”

“I see.”

“However,” Jarlaxle’s smile faded, “I will allow you to keep control for now. There is a greater issue that needs resolving, and Gromph is more than willing to put your punishment on hold until then.”

Kimmuriel nodded solemnly, but stopped abruptly, “Wait- _Gromph?_ What… What did you agree to?”

“Does it matter? Nothing’s going to happen to you until this Chosen thing is dealt with,” Jarlaxle turned to leave, the dark feather in his hat swishing tauntingly behind him.

“It _does matter._ ” Kimmuriel hurried after him, “Especially if it has something to do with- _Did you sell me into slavery?”_

Jarlaxle only cackled in reply.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Once they had crossed the bridge the group summoned their mounts and rode hard for the forest, even though their pursuers had seemingly given up the chase.

Artemis told them what happened and they slowed and dismounted in the natural tunnels close to the entrance. It was dark outside by then, the night deeper and blacker than it had been in a long time. Eventually the group of four slowed to a stop.

“So,” Ambergris ran a hand across her sweaty and bloodstained face and beard, “Drizzt is the Chosen of Lolth and he’s been captured by Draygo and the world is ending.” She laughed, “What a wonderful day to be alive.”

“Don’t get like that, Amber” Afafrenfere snapped. “Surely there’s something we can do.”

Artemis nodded, “Our top priority is to save Effron and get this primordial thing under control. It may have stopped for now, but that doesn’t guarantee anything.”

The rest of the group replied with various form of agreement.

“How’re we gettin’ to Draygos?” Athrogate asked, “Jarlaxle?”

Artemis laughed, sharp and high, on the verge of hysterics.

“How about we get out of the woods before we discuss the next plan, hmm?” Afafrenfere intervened.

The others seemed okay with that, loosening their armor and bringing back their mounts for the ride to Neverwinter’s wall. Stealth was pointless now, all they could be bothered to care about was getting back to the relative safety of their camp.

Artemis shrugged off his cloak, tossing it over his nightmare’s back when it hit him. The others saw him go down, shouting as if struck; Afafrenfere was the first to his side.

The monk raised a curious eyebrow when he saw no injuries, and guided the man into a sitting position.

The assassin struggled to catch his breath, still wincing in pain, his eyes half-focused on something in the distance. The others tried to spot what he saw, but couldn’t make out anything abnormal in the woods. He doubled over, a pained yelp wrenching its way from his throat as he clutched his collar and chest. He wheezed and panted in pain for several heartbeats before eventually relaxing entirely into unconsciousness.

“What in the Nine Hells is going on?” Athrogate ground his teeth as Ambergris checked the human for injuries or ailments.

“He seems fine,” the cleric shrugged, “like he’s just sleeping, not injured. I’ll look at him more thoroughly when we get back.”

Afafrenfere and Athrogate shot worried looks at each other, but couldn’t argue. The monk hoisted the limp assassin onto the nightmare and set off after the dwarves astride their boar, the two steeds hoof beats hellishly loud against the still, dark night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotta give a sort-of coauthor credit to my BF who helped me write most of this chapter. (The dwarves and Afafrenfere's little scene mostly.)


	17. A Shot to the Heart

“What happens now?” Berellip asked as she joined her sister in the primordial’s chamber. The dead all accounted for and properly dealt with some time before.

“I will assume leadership over Gauntlgrym,” She sighed, obviously not thrilled with the job, “Or perhaps pass it on to you while I hunt down the Chosen.”

Berellip laughed, “Given the track record of Gauntlgrym leaders, I’ll have to decline that position.”  She folded her arms across her chest. “How is the monster?”

Her sister sighed again, heavy and weary from the eventful day, “It seems appeased for now. Do’Urden feeding Ravel to it probably helped, but I have no idea how long it will be accepting sacrifices, we need to do something about this.”

“Drizzt’s company obviously had a plan, or they would not have been down here, or fought so hard.” The other priestess offered, “And they retreated when those two over their group were gone, but not when Do’Urden fell.”

“You don’t suppose…” Saribel tilted her head at her sister, “The misshapen one, what was his name? You think he might have a way to soothe the creature.”

Berellip shrugged, “It seems likely.”

The other priestess, now the leader of the Gauntlgrym settlement, nodded slowly, “It’ll be worth looking into regardless. As well as the two that snuck in and took them.”

“I had-“ Berellip attempted to defend herself, but Saribel silenced her with an upraised hand.

“Just,” she said “get to work.”

Her sister narrowed her eyes, but left the chamber.

-0-0-0-0-0-

It did not take them long to clear out the guild house of miscreants and those still loyal to Conrad. By their third day in power, Dahlia and her lieutenants had an up-and-running casino in the main rooms as well an influx of female mercenaries as they learned that many of the women Conrad kept as washer-women or prostitutes had some form of combat training and a desire for a new lot in life.

Talim took over the business end of things, putting her prior guild experience to good use. Sasani offered her aid in keeping tabs on guild funds and the ledger for the front business. Glenda took a spot overseeing the casino, still wanting to put space between herself and Dahlia for the time being.

One evening a knock came to Dahlia’s door. Glenda opened it a crack and called in, “Mistress, you have a guest.”

Dahlia arched her eyebrow. She wasn’t expecting guests, she hardly knew anyone in the city. Confused, yet intrigued, she rose to answer the door.

“Oh,” she said at the sight of the all-too-familiar dark elf standing at the door, pressing a dagger into the girl’s back “it’s _you._ ” She rolled her eye and waved for him to come in, “Let the girl go. She’s a terrible bargaining chip and has nothing to do with our business.”

“And if I refuse?” he shot back.

“Then I slam the door in your face and refuse to open it regardless of how many times you stab her with whatever object you choose.” She said bluntly. Glenda gasped is surprise, but didn’t question it when the dark elf let her go.

Dahlia shut the door and clicked the lock into place behind him. “What are you doing here?”

“You’ve made quite the name for yourself down here, _raven_.” Tiago taunted. “Impressive little guild you’ve acquired as well.”

Dahlia smirked coyly, “The priestesses found you out. What’d they do; force you to shave your moustache?”

Tiago narrowed his eyes, “I was reported to my matron.” He was blunt and startlingly honest. Dahlia rocked back on her heels. “I’ve come to try and repair my reputation, but I am without means at this point.”

The laughter Dahlia gave him in reply was ugly as all hell and she felt a little disgusted with herself afterward. “What a lovely turn of events,” she chuckled, “Should I strip you and tie you to the bedpost?”

“Ha ha, so funny,” the drow replied, “You know why I did what I did.”

“I do,” she conceded, “doesn’t mean I like it.” A tense silence passed between them before she nodded and said, “well, go on then.”

“What? No.”

Dahlia shrugged her shoulders and picked up her staff, moving back to the door, “Fine then, no sale.”

“You can’t be serio-“

“Undress,” her tone was all seriousness. “All of it.” Her grin turned wicked as she remembered the words he’d said to her, “If you come to me in earnest, you come as a prisoner, not an ally, and you shall be treated as such. Remove your weapons and your garments. Don’t want you hiding anything on me.”

Tiago pressed his palm to his forehead, “Really.”

“Just shut up and take your pants off.”

Begrudgingly, Tiago complied with her demands. He held his hands out to his sides, frustrated, when all of his clothing, armor, and gear was resting on her desk, “Satisfied?”

“Not really,” she responded with an arched eyebrow. “What do you want?”

“I’ve come to seek an alliance,” Tiago explained, “and a way to redeem my reputation. I still want Do’Urden and his allies dead.” He saw the hesitance in her face and added, “I am willing to offer a barter, something I don’t think you will refuse.”

“And what would that be?”

The drow went to his gear on the desk and rifled through several pouches until he pulled forth a single, perfectly round gemstone; not a pearl but something similar, “It’s magic, it will help you see,” he said, “I cannot restore your vision as it was, and this will take some getting used to, but it is immensely useful.”

Dahlia folded her arms across her chest and examined the gem for a moment before rapping sharply on the door and unlocking it. Two bulky human women stepped in, looked confusedly at Tiago for a moment, and turned to their guildmaster for orders. “Take him,” she commanded, “to the cells. I’ll deal with him later.”

“Wait-“ Tiago tried to argue, but Dahlia had heard enough. Knowing he’d be imprisoned the drow attempted an escape, only to be shocked by a bolt from Dahlia’s staff.

The elf laughed curtly, tossing his trousers and tunic over his head as the women dragged him a way, “You play nice now, and I might you let out early on good behavior.”

-0-0-0-0-0-

“What did Oblodra say?”

Tel’Kashir held out his hands, “Drizzt Do’Urden has revealed himself as the Chosen of Lolth, the Bregan D’aerthe has changed hands yet again as well as Gauntlgrym, and Do’Urden and one of his group were captured by shades.”

Razlaould blinked at his colleague several times, trying to quell the wave of anxiety that threatened to rip him at the seams. His hand ached and the pain shot up his arm.

“Something the matter?” Tel’Kashir asked, taking a seat, “You have a strange aura.”

“I,” Razlaould struggled with the wording for a moment, “I have made a gross miscalculation.”

“About what?” the other illithid asked.

“The primordial,” Razlaould answered. “I need to remedy my mistake soon. How much longer until the slaves get here?”

Tel’Kashir thought for a moment, “By my calculations, they should have been here already. It would seem that they are not coming at all. I suppose that girl of yours is not as good as everyone believes.”

“Do not make assumptions about my girl,” Razlaould shot back, momentarily defensive, “I would not do the same to you.”

“I know better than to let my slaves have free will.”

“And that is why they die faster.” Razlaould, tired of the argument already, chose not to listen to anything his colleague said in rebuttal.

They would arrive soon, he knew they would, it was all a matter of when, and how long he could hold out on his own in the circumstances.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Her face lingered with him. Her form had been little more than a pale shape against the deep black sky, but her face; the swelling around her round eyes, the snarling curl of her upper lip, and the dark lines of tears down her full cheeks as she stared a hateful look at him from across her drawn bow. It was an accusatory expression, as if he had somehow betrayed her, and she held his gaze, wanting him to see her before she let the arrow fly into his heart.

Artemis Entreri had never seen her all grown up like that, not up close anyway. She had crows’ feet in the corners of her eyes, and the start of laugh-lines about her mouth, her form thinner and more compact with battle-hardening, or at the very least, activity and age. Her halo of hair had lost some of its curl and color.

But there was no mistaking her as she stood not ten feet from him, bow drawn and eyes hard. He tried to reason with her, to get out of that position and find some ground with her, but she wouldn’t listen. Or maybe, he hoped, she just couldn’t hear him because he couldn’t speak. He took the hesitation in her attack as a good sign, that maybe she was just threatening him as a show of emotion and not any real threat.

Then, Catti-Brie Battlehammer shot him in the heart and the whole world went black and silent around him.


End file.
